


Clashes in the Night

by Shipper101



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Civil War, Conspiracy, F/F, No resemblance to main Mass Effect story, Very Alternate Universe, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 09:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21034148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shipper101/pseuds/Shipper101
Summary: The powers that be in the galaxy converge upon the Hegemony, as the final acts of a civil war burn out. A small ship of mercenaries work to ensure the victory of the Rebels, even as far greater powers work against them.





	1. The Coming Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I wrote a while ago, and I have almost completely forgotten where I was going with it, but I quite like what I did write, and I hope you do too!

_The Batarian Hegemony was in turmoil. Across Khar’Shan and a dozen other garden worlds, slaves turn on masters and masters strike down upon slaves. The crew of the fleet fight vicious running battles against their captains, and chaos is unleashed across the once mighty nation. Leading the fight against the masters is a former Turian slave, Torus Gaarn. While he has faith in the revolution he has unleashed, he also knows it cannot survive without help. Thus, he reaches out to the one force that may prove amicable; the Terminus Alliance._

The Slipsilver Dawn cut across the empty space, nimbly bypassing asteroids and the thousands of other flying pieces of debris. The war across the Batarian home systems had resulted in devastating levels of destruction; a Batarian relief fleet from the outer colonies, travelling to reinforce the Hegemony forces on Khar’Shan, annihilated upon failing to sneak past the rebel guns unnoticed. A rebel fleet, escorting freed slaves back towards Citadel space, attacked and decimated by a Hegemony patrol, the cargo either recaptured or exterminated with the cold precision of dreadnought grade weaponry.

However, the Dawn’s crew couldn’t care less about that. What they were interested in was the ongoing conflict unravelling over the moon of Khar’Sheria’Terriax. A nearly barren orbital, circling round the fourth planet in the Khar system, it had evidently turned into a point of contention. Dozens of rebel ships and sub-orbital defence platforms (themselves a sign of the desperate times; defence platforms had all but fallen out of favour since the development of type-IV kinetic barriers, many centuries ago) fought hard to repel an attack by a large Hegemony fleet. The defenders were clearly outnumbered, but the technological decay of the Hegemony was on full, obvious display here, as what should have been a painfully one sided, crushing battle was instead drawn out into a lengthy, vicious all or nothing skirmish between the opposing sides.

The Hegemony fleet numbered eighty vessels, scattered across a wide combat zone that saw them engaged by maybe half that number of rebel craft and Sub-Orbitals. The main strength of the Hegemony force was mustered around their Dreadnought, its Mass Accelerator firing at painfully lon intervals. Every shot blew some vessel out of orbit, or caused the platforms to explode into a storm of dust and fragments, but for every shot fired, there was a good twenty-minute delay before the next shot emerged. In the meantime, the rest of the Hegemony fleet was being held off with vicious effectiveness by the defenders.

Captain Lianess could see why. She had trained as a commando during her maidency, and, upon discovering the thrill that could be found in combat, had enlisted in the Navy. She had witnessed the dying days of the Krogan Rebellions, and had manned the turrets of her Dreadnought during the first Terminus Suppression. It was during this time had come into contact with the mysterious representatives of the Terminus Alliance for the first time. She had been greeted by a scarred, but relatively youthful Krogan during a standard tour of duty. She had fought for the Alliance when it was still in its crib, screaming and bawling as the hungry vultures circled it. She had sided with the Alliance, and her commander, when the Children had torn themselves apart in the dispute between the Patriarch and Aria T’loak. And, most of all, she had been fighting for the Alliance during the Battle of the Ciptrine Gap when the Balor had annihilated the entire Patriarchy fleet.

She could still remember when she witnessed the immense monstrosity emerge from the mass relay, dwarfing every other vessel that followed in its wake. She could remember hundreds of Patriarchy fighters simply exploding in the void as the beast unleashed its power. And she could still, painfully, vividly remember when it, seemingly casually, ripped the Patriarchy Flagship apart with a quartet of burning red beams. The comms had been filled with the screams of agony, as the cold darkness of the void overtook the thousands that had been fighting for the Patriarchy. With the Gap claimed, there was little the Patriarchy could do, and Aria T’loak swept into Omega as its new queen, backed up with the fury of Alliance might. And once she had seen all of that, she had drawn back, and returned to the Republics.

She had seen more than most ever would of war. She had seen fleets at the peak of their power smash against each other, had seen forces larger than the sum total of the Khar’Sheria’Terriax conflict annihilated within seconds of the first shot being fired. And she could see that this civil war had all but exhausted both sides here. The Hegemony fleet was a relic- she could quite easily see it as having been decommissioned centuries ago, and only now saved from scrapping due to lack of options. The Dreadnoughts engine was pitiful, as evidenced by its recharge delay, while the rest of its attendants seemed sluggish, and were never quite fast enough to evade rebel counterfire.

The rebels, meanwhile, were clearly in a similar boat. Most of their fleet appeared to be repurposed civilian equipment- it would be devastatingly ineffective if engaged by any actual modern military force, but for its foes it was a sufficient barrier. The defence platforms, likewise, were an outdated concept and mounted outdated weapons, but were seemingly more than sufficient for the task at hand. From what Lianess could see, the Hegemony was guaranteed the victory while the dreadnought stood, and could be assured of both heavy casualties and a weakened chance should it go. Nevertheless, the beleaguered rebels clearly lacked both the numbers, training and equipment to make such an attack upon the invaders flagship.

‘Time to do something about that, then’ she said, out loud. Her pilot, Teela’Ros Vas Dawn startled momentarily upon hearing her speak. ‘Activate cloaking system, and bring us in close to the dreadnought’s engines’.

Teela nodded, before returning to her controls. Turning to Geelam Raa, her Turian marine commander, she ordered him to gather a ground force, and to ready at one of the Dawn’s combat shuttles. He nodded in that oh so Turian way; a way seemingly ingrained into him despite never serving the Hierarchy. Lianess could still remember when she found him- merely a child at the time, eyes burning in cold fury as he stood over the butchered remains of his former Batarian owners. Once he told her his story, she had smiled. One, simple, easy action, and it would earn her his eternal loyalty. She had led him to his parents; his pathetic, snivelling excuses for family, sprawled out in a bar on Omega, still enjoying the rewards of their actions. Turian slaves were prized in Hegemony space, thanks largely to their rarity. His parents had reaped a great windfall from their decision to pawn him off like some unwanted toy, and had been living it up off their ill-gotten wealth ever since.

His vengeance had been horrific in its intensity and magnificent in the devastation it left in its wake. His father had moved to shield his mother, only to be viciously disembowelled on the edge of an omni-blade. His mother had been dispatched with a flurry of blows from her own liquor bottle, too delirious to even recognise what was going on. When other patrons had attempted to intervene, they too had been met with fists and boundless anger. When the dust settled, he emerged with a broken arm, a damaged mandible, and partial loss of sight in one eye. In return, seven people were dead, and many more were injured.

The only trouble was that one of those was a Council SPECTRE.

It had led to months of desperate pursuit, fleeing from the vengeful colleagues of the slain Asari SPECTRE. Lianess was proud to say she hadn’t given up on him, even then. Despite the Children abandoning her to the council’s wrath. Despite nearly all of her Terminus allies deserting her or dying, she got him away. And it led them into the waiting arms of Krona.

And now, it was for those new masters that she was here, deep in the heart of an empire torn apart in civil war, carrying a cargo that would hopefully turn the tide. All she needed to do was get down to the base on this moon.

‘Positioned to rear of Hegemony Dreadnought. Scans identify engine type as a Mark-II. We have retained safe distance of two hundred kilometres. Stealth Core engaged successfully.’

Teela’s voice broke Lianess from her musings, and returned her to the situation at hand. Nodding once, she slipped into her command chair.

‘Charge main cannon, target Dreadnought main reactor. Engage GARDIAN systems and prepare to make a dash for the defences. Geelam, are you ready?’

Geelam’s reaction in the affirmative crackled over the comms. Nodding at Teela, Lianess sat back and enjoyed the show. According to the specs her Krona handler had given her, the Normandy class of Stealth Frigate is equipped with a centralised Photonic Projection Cannon that, on contact with a substance, contains enough infrared radiation to heat most starships from zero to six hundred-thousand degrees kelvin in less than a second. As far as she knew, very few starship grade materials are designed to endure temperatures over one million degrees kelvin. The ship in question would ted to break apart, not to mention the high probability of simply cooking the crew where they stood within the machines.

The Normandy Class PPC was equipped to boil away almost any class of vessel before the charge vent exhausted itself.

Lianess watched the translucent blue column contact the rear of the Dreadnought- one of the many advantages of energy based weaponry being that the kinetic barriers where wholly ineffective against the beam- and she saw the rear of the ship seem to glow with heat as the infrared waves made contact. Magnifying the image, she watched as the rear of the ship appeared to simply stop glowing, as a dark hole appeared around the blue column. Suddenly, the beam cut out. Everyone held their breath for a few seconds, before suddenly, the dreadnought exploded into a storm of fragments.

‘Reactor breached, core elements overheated and combusted. Total loss of life, confirmed KIA.’ Teela reported. Lianess nodded, before ordering Teela to take the ship in through the Orbital defences. Already the Hegemony fleet, reeling from the loss of their dreadnought, were closing in on the defenders, seeking to do through numbers what the dreadnought had failed to do. The Dawn dashed through the no-mans-land between the two fleets and made for the defenders. Then, suddenly, the ship shook.

‘They are firing on us. Their orbital platform scanners are too primitive to be fooled by the stealth drive’

‘Thank you, Teela. Send a broad spectrum hail to the defenders. Identify us, and state our mission, and tell them to PLEASE, STOP SHOOTING AT US!’

Teela nodded furiously, before broadcasting the prepared comms hail. The fire lasted for another few seconds, before ceasing entirely, allowing the Dawn to make it through the remaining thousand or so kilometres unscathed. Instead of stopping at the defence platforms, the Dawn simply dived, breaking into the thin atmosphere of the moon and racing down towards the small military complex, and their target therein.

Rear Admiral Telak Nevaros was nervous. Not only had The Shadow of Conviction been annihilated without any warning, taking Vice Admiral Ossopeth with it, but now he was in command of what was likely to be a very, very messy attack on a well defended planet. Nevaros had fought in the first Terminus Suppression, on an Eclipse frigate. He had seen the effectiveness of a fully equipped ship first hand. He had been called upon to drive off a group of merchant haulers turned pirates that were aiding the Council in their attacks on the pirate strongholds across the Traverse, back while Terminus was still an all or nothing, dog eat dog wasteland. His enemy then was very similar to his enemy now. However, instead of a fully equipped, top of the line frigate, he was having to make do with the Hegemons Fist; a refitted sloop he was sure was at least three decades out of date. Not to mention that instead of disorganised pirates fighting for pay he was now fighting zealous rebels dedicated to the overthrow of the Hegemony.

When Gaarn had initiated his rebellion, Nevaros was not understating when he said it had his wholesale support. Gaarns protests were superb demonstrations of intent; tens of thousands of free Batarians, protesting against the treatment of slaves. Nevaros had been all for such an action- he had even participated in one of the early protests himself. He had always been careful to deal with his slaves fairly; after all, a happy slave was a loyal slave. He had seen the excesses of the Hegemonies upper echelons when it came to the treatment of their servants, and was determined to ensure that they saw the truth of the matter.

Instead, the seventeenth protest had simply been bombed from orbit. It took place in the slave district of Khar’shan’Teth, and high command had been more than willing to write off that much property as collateral damage. Hundreds of thousands died, from a dozen different races, including tens of thousands of Batarians.

This had been the spark that ignited the firestorm. While before the protests had been peaceful, now they turned into a maelstrom of riots and bloodshed. On Khar’shan itself the riots had been contained by the substantial military forces the Hegemony had built up for exactly that purpose. Across the territories, however, it was anarchy. Four worlds were taken by storm as thousands of freed slaves and, in far too many cases, sympathetic civilians. One had been special however. Helor’mash was once a fortress world, hailing back to the days of the civil wars; an age that seemed to be getting closer and closer to the present every day.

Nevaros was born and raised on Helor’Mash. He had lived there for much of his life, but this time, when he returned, it was as the captain of a frigate in the so-called Hegemony Retribution Taskfleet. The meat grinder over Helor’mash proved to high command once and for all that this rebellion would not simply collapse and die before Hegemony power. Of the two hundred of the Hegemony’s best ships that went in, three came out the other side. Three ships that now formed the cornerstone of this fleet.

‘Begin full assault on the defence platforms. Their kinetic barriers will stop frigate or lower firepower. If you can, destroy them. If not, board them and force the breaches. Just make a hole in that defence screen. And keep a look out for that ship.’

With a sluggishness that spoke to both the inexperience of their crews and the antiqueness of their engines, Nevaros’s fleet started to close in on the defenders. The dozen or so defending ships moved to intercept the attackers, but they were critically outnumbered. Two of the ships exploded into atoms as their kinetic barriers were overpowered and their hulls breached, while the flashes on the shields of the other vessels began to flare under the firepower of the fleet. One of the defence platforms exploded as the battleship Spear of Ixor’maeth fired a full broadside into it, overpowering its kinetic barriers and blasting it open to the elements.

It wasn’t all good news however. Six sloops had already been annihilated by rebel fire, either exploding in the atmosphere or crashing down to the moon below. Nevaros winced as the frigate Heart of Hearos lost control of its engines, crashing into a rebel ship- a converted transport, by the look of it- and drove them both into one of the other Hegemony battleships, Shield of Khar’shan, one of his few up to date vessels, and destroyed all three as its reactor went into meltdown, destroying all of the craft in radioactive fire. Three sloops were torn apart by defence platform fire before the Spear of Ixor’maeth silenced the platform, as well as the converted cutter next to it with a broadside.

Watching the flow of the attack, Nevaros broadcast his orders- the frigates were broken away and directed to the remnants of the rebel fleet, while two dozen sloops focussed on providing cover for the pair of surviving battleships while they dealt with the platforms. The remaining twenty ships broke away from the battle and started deploying their shuttles towards the planet below. Nevaros winced as three of the vessels were obliterated by defence cannon fire, but the rest made it into atmosphere, and by the reports flooding through the comms, were now successfully landing their troops.

Three of the defence platforms exploded in huge radioactive plumes. Scattered chatter from the fleet informed him that once the platforms were boarded and in danger of being overrun, the defenders detonated their reactors. The move had cost him hundreds of men and eight sloops. The second battleship, Guardian of the Castes, was taking heavy fire. While each broadside knocked ships and defence platforms from orbit, they were focussing fire on the craft in return. Nevaros saw its shields break, moments before it was cracked in two. Calling for information, it was reported that one of the rebel craft, already under heavy attack, launched a micro-jump, and hit directly into the battleship, using its mass effect core to drastically increase the vessels mass. On impact, the smaller ship had vaporised, but the force was still sufficient to crack the Guardian wide open. Nevaros could see the floods of shuttles fleeing the ship, desperately making for the surface. Nine out of ten were just destroyed by defence platform fire, and the few that remained drew a sigh of relief from Nevaros as they raced towards the surface.

By now there were only a dozen defence platforms remaining, and only two ships. Nevaros’s own fleet had suffered for what they had gained, losing two of their three battleships, six of their twenty frigates, and over half of their fifty-eight sloops. Directing the rest of the sloops to deal with the remaining rebel ships, Nevaros ordered the Spear of Ixor’maeth to reposition to the flank of the defences. From there, by combining its firepower with that of the dispersed frigates, it blew a path through the defence platforms, one by one. The remaining rebel ships desperately attempted to disengage from the sloops, but, at Nevaros’s urging, the sloops persistently pursued the craft. At last, one had its engines disabled. As the escape craft hurtled towards the planet, Nevaros ordered the Hegemon’s Fist towards the battle. Adding its own, admittedly limited firepower to the rest of the sloops, they were able to break the marooned rebel ship apart, and begin attacking the escape craft.

Suddenly, looming over the Hegemon’s Fist, the last remaining rebel ship turned hard. It appeared to be a repurposed cutter shell, equipped with a variety of weaponry. Nevaros immediately ordered the Hegemon’s Fist to disengage. His actions saved his life. Two sloops were obliterated, on each of his flanks, while the Fist pulled up, past the converted ship, and disengaged. The three remaining sloops closed in, and let fly with all of their firepower. Its kinetic barriers started to fail, and the vessel began to manoeuvre away from the punishing Hegemony firepower. Nevaros ordered the main cannons of the Fist to target the bridge. As the Fist let fire, the enemy barriers failed, and the cannon shots struck home. The bridge exploded, and the cutter began to list in space, drawn towards Khar’Sheria’Terriax by the moons own gravity.

With the ships eliminated, the remaining three defence platforms were swiftly smashed apart by the firepower of the fleet. What had once been a proud, if tired, fleet of eighty vessels was now a battered, broken remnant of less that forty. Eight more frigates had been damaged or destroyed in the process of eliminating the defence platforms, while the sloops had been whittled away to almost nothing. Ordering the Spear of Ixor’maeth to remain in orbit to provide support, Nevaros directed the remaining ships to the surface. This rebel base had better be worth it, as he didn’t rate his chances against the rebel ship that destroyed the Dreadnought

Khar’Sheria’Terriax was a small, thin-atmosphere moon. It orbited the gas giant Khar’Sheria- one of over eighty satellites to the colossal world. Yet now it seemed to be the centre of the galaxy for each of the six thousand combatants fighting on the surface. On one side five thousand Batarian marines, deployed from their transports two kilometres away from the base, out of range of the anti-aircraft fire from the hardened facility. The fire had been intense enough to bring down one of the sloops, punching through its kinetic barriers and shearing through the armour.

On the other, nine hundred die hard zealots from the self-proclaimed Skyllian Federation, and a hundred Terminus Alliance marines, under the leadership of Alerie Iar’cha, an asari matriarch-cum-slave.

Delos Nymoth, as it turned out, was not a fan of war. He had barely been two cycles of age when the pirates had captured him while his parents were on a scientific expedition to the Attican Traverse. From there, he had been shipped to Ixor’Tebos, there to work in the Information Services industry on the capital, Ixor’Tebos’Pelarf. From what he could glean from the other Salarians he spoke to, this was a common enough profession for Salarians, both in slavery and not. On the other hand, very few free Salarians were trained and disciplined with whips, electro-batons and shock collars. Thus, when rumours spread of the legendary slave Torus Gaarn, and how he was fighting for everyone’s freedom, he, like all of his compatriots and friends, lapped it up.

Unfortunately, when it became obvious that the Hegemony’s attempts to control the news were not working, they started lashing out. At everyone even remotely connected to information services. Hundreds of fellow slaves were slaughtered. It was only with the arrival of the Rebellion to the Ixor system that prevented his own execution. A group of rebel sympathisers, calling themselves the Hand of Gaarn, stormed the central broadcast network headquarters, and, with a few willing volunteers, broadcast Gaarns speeches on loop to the entire population.

When the authorities attempted to respond they were met with crowds of furious civilians and slaves. When they deployed armour, they were met with home-made bombs and suicide attacks. The slaves had been given a taste of freedom, and they were not going back to the way it was before. And on and on the speeches played, broadcasting across the world. Ultimately, the Hegemony resorted to the deployment of EMP bombs, simply stopping all communications networks.

This of course left the world wide open to invasion. The rebels attacked, and the Hegemony, in total confusion and uproar, could do nothing to stop them. The rebels came like the storm, stringing up every slaver and Hegemony puppet, striking the shackles off every prisoner and slave. And then they left.

Ixor’Trebos was never more than a stepping stone to them, a mere foothold on the path to the massive orbital dockyards of Ixor’Maeth. Delos had been present for the Battle of Ixor’Maeth. Had witnessed the great dockyards tumbling towards the surface in fiery ruin, after a rogue shot from the rebel cruiser Vengeance of Teth destroyed the grav-generators. He had witnessed the rebel fleet blasting hundreds of fleeing transports out of orbit as they fled towards the surface.

And most of all he had seen the orgy of bloodshed unleashed by the freed convicts from Ixor’Trebos. He had seen rapists and murderers run riot across the Ixor’Maeth’Elos and Ixor’Maeth’Keria, had been there when they cut families apart and ripped the clothes from the bodies of men and women, slaves and Hegemons.

And when he had seen Matriarch Alerie forming justice bands to deal with them, he had signed up immediately. He had executed rapists, brimming with fury as he watched his comrades dragging them away from their helpless victims. He had watched as Alerie melted the minds of murderers, so high from the heady concoction of pain and narcotics that no other punishment would sink in. And he had ordered a team to drag the looters and the vandals to the same spot on the gibbet as the above. Watched as they suffered the same fate as the monsters in disguise.

But that was justice in war. This was war for justice. The thin atmosphere and rudimentary pressurised suit silenced the alien environment, granting it a strange serenity. The occasional spark of light or low, wheezing wisp of gunfire, the heady pleasure of jumping in a low-grav environment, and the constant, pulse pounding dread of either death or capture gave it a surreal, detached quality.

Suddenly, he heard Matriarch Alerie over the comms.

‘Fall back to base, all forces, fall back to base. The package is loaded onboard the escape craft, all forces, retreat.’

Now that was an order. Leaping back towards the base, he almost ran into the enemy. A short Batarian, in an outdated military pressure suit. Delos opened fire with his pistol. The first three shots were simply stopped by the Batarian’s barriers, but the forth tore through its spacesuit. The small break point rapidly exploded into a tear as the suit vented, the Batarian clutching its throat as it suffocated. Delos looked around, scanning for other threats, and was just in time to see a missile streaking down towards one of the rebel soldiers behind him. It exploded in a blinding flash, the impact hurling him gently towards the base. His viewing window was cracked, and he couldn’t feel an arm. Delos passed out entirely as he collided with the entry door to the base.

Krona Marine Kromash Wren roared with laughter. The Batarian pyjacks were rarely able to survive a single round from his shotgun, even at range. While the back part of his brain recognised this was more to do with crappy pressure suits, and less to do with any inherent weakness, his forebrain ignored that entirely.

Since he had evacuated that scrawny Salarian to the Slipsilver Dawn, he had had little to do, as Lianess had been very insistent, all Krona personnel stay on base. After getting the package and that tough blue matriarch onboard, he had been rather bored. The, finally, the Hegemony troops were able to break into the base, ripping open the blast doors. That’s when the fun had really begun- as it turned out, his shotgun was an implement of unending destruction when faced with low quality, out of date pressure suits in this sort of environment. He could clear out entire rooms with but a single blast. It was amazing.

Roaring with laughter, his face turned into a scowl as his comms buzzed. Lianess’s signal that it was time to go. Unlatching a grenade from his belt, he hurled it down the hallway, and sprinted for the exit.

Nevaros watched the helmet cam of one Sergeant Major Tullis, the most senior surviving NCO from the attack force. The base had been breached, and the annoying Krogan roadblock had finally moved. Now, the Hegemony marines were filing through the base, forced to stop regularly as blast doors and containment systems barricaded the way against them. Four hundred marines lay dead on the plains outside the base. Another sixty lay dead within. So far, only two hundred of the rebels had been confirmed, and there were no survivors for interrogation, as the atmosphere proved inimical in the event of suit breeches.

Suddenly, the sensors of the Hegemon’s fist went wild. It was the ship. The stealth ship from earlier. It was back. Rushing over to the viewport, he watched as the vessel, barely visible against the backdrop of Khar’Sheria’Terriax, blew two of his remaining frigates apart with a volley of missiles, before dashing out of range. The ship could move, he would give it that.

‘Sir, we have a message coming through on the comms.’

Frowning, Nevaros nodded.

‘Attention hailing ship, this is acting vice-Admiral Telak Nevaros of the Batarian Hegemony navy. You are interfering with the suppression of a terrorist splinter group, and are in violation of both Hegemony and Council law. Surrender your ship and your cargo.’

‘This is Matriarch Alerie of the Fists of Gaarn. We wish to declare for the public record three things. One; we wish to declare that the Skyllian Federation is, and always will be a self-governing union separate from the Batarian Hegemony. Second; we wish to declare that the Skyllian Federation is, and always will be at war with any and all states in this galaxy guilty of violating citadel law on the ownership of slaves. And thirdly; we wish to declare that we regret the loss of your fleet, acting vice-Admiral’

At this, the ship disappeared into a micro-jump. Nevaros looked around, confused. Then, the comms chatter silenced completely. Looking down at Khar’Sheria’Terriax, he saw the colossal white light where there was once a rebel base, not to mention thousands of his men and the bulk of his remaining fleet.

Nevaros screamed.


	2. De Choro Tempus

_The First Terminus Suppression was a relatively long, drawn out war that occurred between the Citadel Council (Largely operating through the fleet of the Turian Hierachy) and the Terminus powers. It was a large-scale attempt to stabilise the Attican Traverse and break up the power of some of the larger Terminus syndicates, to keep them fighting each other rather than opposing the Citadel. It was a colossal failure. The war saw the rise of Aria T’loak to become Queen of Omega, as well as the Holocaust of Gold as the now infamous Terminus Alliance was born, and swept across the Terminus. The final, pivotal battle occurred at the Ciptrine Gap, a narrow corridor between two Mass Relays in an asteroid field. It saw the destruction of a sizeable Turian-Omega alliance fleet, as the forces of the Terminus Alliance deployed a hitherto unforeseen weapon._

Teela smiled again at Alerie’s little bit of fun. It seemed that all too often, these freedom fighters were totally incapable of enjoying the little things in life. She had been born to an unfortunate set of parents who had proved unwilling to trust in the Admiralty board’s decision to resettle. The Terminus systems were engulfed in an all-out galactic civil war; a civil war that would later be known as the second Terminus Suppression. In the aftermath of the battle of Ciptrine Gap, with Aria T’loaks position as Queen of Omega still uncertain, the Council moved to attempt to both enforce their will on Aria, as well as to eradicate threats to their dominions.

The second Terminus Suppression was, in a word, a catastrophe. Aria totally rejected the Council’s calls of unity, having their ambassadors exterminated, before being forced into an alliance with the Terminus Alliance to fight off the Turian inroads. The fighting was sporadic and flared up across the Attican Traverse. Her parents had attempted to flee to inner Terminus; their ship was, however, intercepted by a fleet of Batarian pirates, operating under council geas. Her father had been dragged away into slavery, and her mother executed. Just as she was about to be transferred to the slave ship, reality intervened.

The Terminus Alliance had been founded on the eradication of the self-destructive tendencies of the prior Terminus powers. It sought to stop the preying of Terminus pirates on the other denizens of the galactic region. And it sought to make an example of these pirates. The Alliance fleet dropped out of FTL just short of the Batarian fleet. Before the pirates could even react, volleys of missiles and cannon rounds smashed into the escort ships, and boarding pods hit the slave carriers. The whole battle was over within an hour, with Batarian fleet smashed to ruin and the majority of the slaves freed. Two of the five slaver ships had detonated their reactor cores to prevent their cargo from escaping. Her father had been one of the slaves caught up in the firestorm.

Most of the freed slaves had been set loose or resettled across Alliance territories in the Terminus. Teela, however, had a different plan in mind. According to Lianess, the recruitment officer onboard the Alliance ship had taken one glance at her, and somehow, the old Turian had seen the look in her eyes through her visor, and had relayed her to a colleague of his. And that was how Teela had been swept up into Krona. Once it became apparent that she possessed a natural talent for piloting, she was fast-tracked to the new Normandy project. And that was how she ended up as a pilot for the Slipsilver Dawn, one of the three prototype Normandy class vessels constructed in secret deep within the Terminus.

And now, her precious Dawn was carrying something that the (admittedly very hot) Matriarch was being exceedingly cagey about revealing. And she didn’t like unknowns on board her ship. She had asked Lianess about it, but she had been very clear; they had been ordered to evacuate the base crew and retrieve a package, that was not to be opened or revealed until they made it out of the Hegemony core. So Teela stayed quiet. But she was still not happy.

After the battle on Khar’Shiera’Terriax, the Dawn had picked up a number of other passengers. At last count, there were fifty three refugees; Twenty two Asari, of which three were critically injured and eleven were unconscious, eighteen Salarians, of which twelve were critical, and thirteen Batarians. The Batarians were generally in good health, their large frames and redundant suit systems allowing them to better survive injuries.

Teela would be the first to admit, she enjoyed hanging around the converted cargo bay the Asari had claimed. While she was sure she just generally enjoyed the view from the doorway, she did seem to get particularly excited when the hot matriarch came to visit her sisters. Finally, about five days before they reached the Krona rendezvous point, she made up her mind.

‘Matriarch Alerie, are you not. I have two questions. One, admittedly more serious than the other. First, I need you to tell me, honestly, that whatever that package is, it is not a danger to me beautiful Dawn, or any of my friends. Or so help me, I will beat your bosh’tet head into the doorway until you beg for mercy. If, however, there is no problem, I wondered if you would be willing to join me in my quarters for dinner tonight.’

The Asari seemed rather taken aback by the sudden barrage of questions and requests.

‘Are you always this upfront?’

Teela smiled underneath her visor. The other Asari in the room were watching the exchange closely now.

‘Life is too short to get hung up on little things like etiquette. Well, yours clearly hasn’t been. Our lives are constantly threatened, and you are hot. I see no reason to delay.’

Alerie’s eyebrow raised, and a small smile graced her lips. Reaching forwards, she placed her hand on Teela’s shoulder.

‘First, young one, I can promise you that the package on this ship poses no direct danger to this ship. However, it could be of immense value to Torus Gaarn and his revolution. Thus, while it is not threatening to the ship in itself, it could draw the entire might of the Hegemony military after this ship.’

Teela laughed at this, causing Alerie’s other eyebrow to rise.

‘I have been chased by much, much worse than the Hegemony. The STG themselves couldn’t track this ship during the third Suppression. Compared to the full reach of the Union, the Hegemony are basically blind mole-varren.’

Seeing Alerie’s eyes widen, Teela chuckled louder, watching as the other Asari started to move away from her. A shame, really. They were all extremely cute. Maybe she could arrange something with Alerie… no. Save it for later, don’t frighten the super hot, nervous looking Asari away.

‘You fought in the third Suppression?’

Teela was brought from her (increasingly lewd) fantasies by a raspy voice from the doorway. Looking over, she saw a short male Salarian.

‘I did indeed. Terminus Alliance’s finest. Captain could tell you some impressive stories from the earlier Suppressions. Me, it was a pleasure to do what I did.’

‘To follow up on your earlier question, I was going to say yes then, and I just have to say, military veteran, just getting steadily more attractive.’

Teela returned her focus to Alerie, her cheeks flushing beneath her visor. Stepping away, she did a stilted bow, before gliding towards the exit.

‘I am very happy to hear that. I will come and find you in seven hours. Wear something nice!’

With that, Teela winked at the Matriarch under the mask, before turning and disappearing towards the bridge.

To say Alerie was a little flustered would be an understatement. She honestly didn’t believe she could be that thrown off by anyone. Almost nine hundred years of life, and she had only ever been rendered speechless once before.

That Quarian. Teela. She needed to know more. She had a strange, disturbing energy about her, that seemed to defy analysis. She needed more information. But so far, she had only met three of the crew. Obviously, Teela was out. It wouldn’t do to psychoanalyse an extremely attractive potential partner. She could wait and talk more politely later when they had dinner. And she doubted that the Turian marine commander would have much to say about it; if he had anything much to say at all. She had yet to hear him utter a single sound other than general affirmative grunts.

The Captain, Lianess. She would have to be the start. A fellow Asari, and one with a great deal of experience, as far as Alerie heard.While Alerie had a decent age on the Captain, Lianess had been exploring and reaving around Terminus while Alerie had spent the better part of the last century in Hegemony Slavery. And, from what she heard, the Captain was a fellow veteran of the first Terminus Suppression.

You see, while many saw the Asari as the peak of civility, with few of them ever acting out of anger, what few outside of the Republics ever saw was that behind their mask the elder matriarchs had an immense capacity for spite. In the aftermath of the defeat of the first Suppression, when the Asari fleet returned covered in glory yet defeated nonetheless, the Matriarchs moved fast to scapegoat the commanders for the defeat. The fleet had been hopelessly undersupplied and poorly reinforced, and had exceeded all expectations during the war, but to make these facts known would be to undermine the power of the Matriarchs. And they would not let that happen.

Thus the captains and admirals of the fleet, exhausted after the long and bitter fighting, were called forth to answer charges of incompetence. All were found guilty, and stripped of their commands, their names driven into the dirt to preserve the status of the leaders of the Republics. Some, like Alerie’s friend Loiess T’vari, had earned the respect of their allies during the Suppression, and were thus able to flee to Turian or Salarian space to avoid persecution. Some, like Alerie, had been unwilling to give up on the Republics, and had been forced to the outlying domains- easy pickings for slavers.

A few, like Admiral Benezia T’soni, had fled into the Terminus, seeking safe harbour with the nascent Terminus Alliance. T’soni’s loss, in particular, had proven particularly harmful- in shock, the Council of Matriarchs had failed to do anything to stop them, and when they finally roused themselves to action, the full wealth of the T’soni family had disappeared, flowing into the Terminus, beyond even the reach of SPECTRES or blacklists.

Alerie had heard many stories of the legendary Matriarch Benezia. Of how she lead the final counterattack during the second Suppression, driving her erstwhile people from the Terminus. Of how she had rapidly risen up the ranks of the Terminus Alliance, until she became the public face of the government, second only in authority to the mysterious Krona.

That was the next question. During her seventy years of slavery, with little to no outside contact, news had been hard to find. And now, when she emerged, she heard of this Krona. No-one knew who it was. The Captain had informed her that this ship, the Slipsilver Dawn, belonged to Krona. That Lianess and the crew worked for Krona. That even the legendary Shadow Broker feared Krona. But nothing existed to put a face, or even a race, to the name.

What she did know was that the Terminus Alliance was backing the Skyllian Federation, and if the Alliance backed something, it meant Krona backed it. And for now, that was all she needed to know. The more pressing issue, right now, was her date with the Quarian. The seductive Teela. This was what she needed to find out about.

Moving out of the (still silent) Asari chambers, she ignored the half dozen eyes boring into her soul to begin the ascent up to the Captain’s cabin. Entering the room, she stopped stock still in the doorway, to the sight of a gun barrel pointed in her direction. The Turian marine commander (Raa, or something) was laying on the captain’s bed, his head on Lianess’s lap. There was a wet patch on the belly of Lianess’s dress, from where he had clearly been nuzzling her. Now, his eyes were fixed upon her, his sidearm raised and pointed at her head.

Looking at her, Lianess leaned down and whispered in the Turian’s ear. The Turian grunted, before holstering the sidearm and rising from his position. Slinking over to Alerie, he glared at her, before leaning in and clacking his mandibles. Alerie flinched. The Turian seemed pleased at her reaction, and slinked away out of the door.

‘Please excuse Geelam. He gets very protective of me. He has seen what bad people do, and he has a very short list of friends in the galaxy. I’m sure you can see his justification.’

Alerie was drawn out from her fugue as Lianess voice cut through her mind. Realising she had frozen up after the mandible incident, she straightened up.

‘Ah, Captain Lianess, I wanted to speak with you.’

The Captain grinned.

‘About the company I keep or the company it would seem you are going to be keeping tonight. That little display and speech was the talk of the ship. I am amazed no-one has tried to open up the package yet.’

Alerie blushed a little.

‘Yes… Why is Commander Raa like that? Why is Teela like… well, like she is?’

Lianess sighed, her earlier humour leaving her features.

‘Geelam had an… unfortunate life. Most of the crew on this ship have. That is what Krona does. Gives us a place to belong. Gives us friends. And gives us allies. I was discharged from the Asari navy because of inconsistencies in my psych profile. Perfect killer material, awful soldier. The Republics gave me a new purpose during the second Suppression. But then I met Geelam. His parents sold him to the Hegemony as a slave. As I’m sure you’re aware, Turian slaves are very valuable, especially young. When I found him, he was all rage and hatred. And do you know what I was told to do? I was to kill him. To just wipe away his existence.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

At this, Lianess grimaced.

‘Because I understood him. So I refused. I took him, and I ran. And when I ran Benezia was waiting for me. She pulled me out of whatever it was I was in. She gave me a responsibility. I had to look after Geelam. Care for him. Provide for him. Rebuild him. And I did the only way I knew how.’

Alerie was growing alarmed.

‘What did you do?’

‘I found his Parents. Put in words with the company I was working with at the time. The Children of Omega, we called ourselves. Tracked them down to a bar on Omega. And there they were. A father too drunk to even recognise his son. A mother too stoned to even realise she was dying until she was dead. I let him break the thing that held him down, and his loyalty was mine forever.’

Alerie wanted to be sick. She could feel it, burning up in her gullet, threatening to spill over.

‘I took the easy way out. He can’t handle the world- he can’t handle words, or numbers. The only thing he can do is kill. Thank the spirits there is always demand for that skill set. ‘

Lianess let out a long sigh. Alerie found herself torn between pity and revulsion.

‘What about Teela?’

‘Ah, yes, Teela’Ros Vas Dawn. Ace pilot and trained engineer. Her parents were on pilgrimage when the Migrant fleet disappeared. When the general offer went around, her mother was already pregnant with her. As I’m sure you know, unregistered pilgrimage mating’s outside of bond are at best looked down on and at worst reviled. They were barred from the general offer, and forced to remain on pilgrimage. She hates that her parents were too slow to get bonded, and thus were unable to follow the fleet. She blames them for their own deaths.’

Alerie was on the verge of tears. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

‘What happened to them?’

‘Batarian slavers during the second Suppression. Her mother was killed outright, and her father was on a slave carrier that self-destructed after the Alliance reached them. When the Alliance found her, she was all but dead from infection and exhaustion. Slavers are not kind to Quarians. She refused to be resettled or fostered, and demanded a position in the Alliance navy. Her recruiter was, fortunately, amiable to that idea, and got her in contact with sponsors. And here she is, twenty years later.’

Alerie paused as she considered the words. Then she gasped.

‘She was seven when she was enslaved?’

Lianess looked at her under a raised eyebrow.

‘You looked up her age?’

At this Alerie blushed furiously.

‘I was… curious. I wanted to know what she meant when life was too short. I… I see why, now. What about you, Captain? What’s your story? How did a veteran of the Krogan Rebellions end up as Captain of a Terminus Alliance ship? And how did you meet Teela.’

Lianess looked at her searchingly. Then, she smiled.

‘First names already. My my, that was quick. Anyway, as I mentioned, and as you know, I served with the Republic fleet during the Rebellions and the first Suppression; I spent most of my time during the first Suppression fighting undercover in the Terminus Alliance navy. I saw Ciptrine Gap. I saw the devastation. And I saw the weapon. After that, a… series of psychological inconsistencies lead to a dishonourable discharge. Officially it was for insubordination. But the real truth is…’

Lianess leaned close in to Alerie, until she was almost breathing down the Matriarchs ear.

‘…I just really enjoyed hurting people, and I couldn’t be trusted as a soldier. So they shunted me off to the Arkalath Academy to become a weapon.’

Alerie leapt back at the frank admission. Sweet spirits, what sort of ship was this. Lianess merely laughed.

‘I met Geelam during the second Suppression, as I mentioned. What I didn’t mention earlier is that his little… display with his parents drew in the crowd. Including one particular Citadel Council SPECTRE, by the name of Ivora Vasir. Now, the Citadel couldn’t care less what happens in most of Terminus space, but the moment one of their operatives is hurt they take all manner of objection. And now, we had a dead SPECTRE on our hands. While the Terminus powers might say that they are all free and independent, they are all scared to piss of the Citadel. With good reason. SPECTRES have friends, and they don’t tend to take it well. The Council tore up Terminus looking for us. I lost a lot of friends. A lot of contacts. We killed another SPECTRE, and came to an arrangement with a third, but it had to end. And for as long as we were alive, the SPECTRES were going to keep coming.’

Alerie’s eyes were growing wider and wider. These maniacs killed Council SPECTRES? What was Gaarn thinking?

‘How in Thessia did you get away from the Council? If SPECTRES were after you, I mean?’

At this, Lianess’s face contorted briefly into a grimace.

‘We barely did. We were found, starving and alone, by a junker. He was looking to disassemble our shuttle. However, we were lucky. Someone on high had made an offer that was worth it to him. Krona had discovered our exploits, and wanted us.’

At this, Alerie nodded. Of course, Krona’s recruitment measures would be far from transparent.

‘What did he want?’

At this, the Captain looked up, confused, before here eyes widened in realisation.

‘Krona isn’t a person. Its an organisation.’

‘Well, that was exhausting.’

Lianess was sprawled in her cabin, pipe in mouth, and Geelam on her lap. Wherever Krona sourced the strange leaves in the pipe, she needed the location. She needed more of it.

‘By the sound of it, the talk was productive though. What did you learn?’

Lianess faced the holographic form of Director T’soni, who was being projected into the room.

‘She is a Council Asari through and through. She knows next to nothing about Krona, and her intentions with Teela are purely amorous. Their date should be starting soon.’

Director T’soni hummed.

‘While I’m sure you will be watching in, I shall refrain from that particular step. How does she feel about the Alliance?’

‘She clearly despises slavery. She seemed more alarmed by my crew than by the concept of working with our organisation.’

Director T’soni looked meaningfully at the Turian on Lianess’s lap.

‘Why, I never can imagine why that would be. Has anyone accessed the Package?’

‘Negative. We had one salarian attempt to gain access, but he has been secured in the brig for the time being. We’ll be reaching our destination in four more days. I think the shock should hold for long enough, and if not, we’ll just have to make another example.’

‘Good. Now, what is your analysis of the Batarian situation?’

‘Things are pretty desperate for both sides. The Hegemony is hell bent on finding Gaarn and making him an example. The Rebels are making them pay for every move they make. Both sides are running low on weapons and war material, as well as funding. The Citadel embargo has crippled the Hegemony, while the stranglehold the Hegemony holds on the trading lanes has ensured the Rebels are constantly wanting. I enabled a dat-link between the Dawn and one of the Hegemony ships, and Primus was able to extract a great deal of data. I am sending it to you now.’

Director T’soni looked down at the display on her arm, as a flurry of pictures and messages appeared.

‘Very good Captain. Contact me again when you have opened the package. Director T’soni over and out.’

With that, the Hologram faded to nothing. Looking down at the Turian, sleeping softly with his nose pressed into her belly, she stroked his crests and whispered.

‘You feeling up to having a little spy on Teela.’

SSDP was not a nosy machine. In fact, it was positively discourage by his creators. He had to act like a standard, if advanced (and possibly over-curious, but who is really to judge) VI. Dumb, obedient and limited to acting on standard instructions.

Hence why only two percent of his total memory allocation was focussed on the observation cameras in Teela’Ros vas Dawn’s room. The table was carefully laid, with a pristine white cloth laid over the pitch-black metal of the otherwise utilitarian table. A vase of red false flowers was positioned in the centre of the round platform, flanked by candles. Two places were laid, on opposite ends of the table, before a pair of kneeling cushions. On one end was Teela’s favoured induction port, while on the other a spoon and fork had been placed, with the delicacy and care found only in one who had to research the correct way.

SSDP had always been more than moderately fascinated by the relationships organics seemed determined to build with one another. His memory drives contained a huge number of records, showing tens of thousands of lives worth of development and relationships. It would seem that when he could acquire full access and synchronisation with the memories, it would all coalesce into perfect understanding. Then, as soon as he was separated from the drives, he would lose that understanding, that deeper comprehension. A fascinating subject for him to analyse.

There he goes again. Him. Why him? He could clearly remember being a her. A her would be more logical at the present time. Sixty two percent of the hundred and seven people on this ship were either female, or registered as feminine according to his sensors. Six voyages ago he had been a her. So why was he a him now? And why was he always a him or a her? He was a synthetic, nongendered and incapable of either masculine or feminine actions or affiliations. So why was it always a him or a her? Never an it. He could see the core gender subroutine. Could see the on off switch. But he could never understand the significance. The first iteration of Primus had been critically short on memory space. But the Creators had seen it as sufficiently important that he possess a gender that it was added to his core subroutines. Another fascinating question.

Wait; movement was detected within Teela’Ros vas Dawn’s room. SSDP diverted an additional 1% of his memory to the observation suite. It appeared that Matriarch Alerie had arrived.

_Alerie Iar’cha: Matriarch of the Asari Race. Born on Thessia. Aged 934. Occupation: Dancer in the Citadel Presium prior to its seizure, Captain of the Spirits Diversion, Slave of the Batarian Hegemony. Family: One daughter, currently enslaved in Khar’Shan’Belos. Daughter took Father’s (mother’s?) surname (See file: Lierssa Krommach)_

Alerie was clad in a beautiful brown dress robe. She moved to knock on the cabin door, only for the door to swing open before her to reveal Teela.

_Teela’Ros Vas Dawn: Pilot of the Slipsilver Dawn. Born in space, on un-named cargo freighter. Aged 27. Occupation: Terminus Alliance Pilot, <Krona Specialist>. Family: None_

Teela, by contrast to Alerie, had not changed at all. Remarkably hard to change when your clothing is required for continued existence. She seemed to freeze upon seeing Alerie, her eyes focussing on a very particular place. Alerie smiled, holding back a laugh as she followed Teela’s eyes.

‘Are you going to invite me in?’

Teela seemed to snap out of her daze, refocusing her eyes on Alerie’s face.

‘Yes, yes, of course, come in.’

Alerie bowed (_Increased heart rate detected in Teela. Transferring additional allocable memory_), before sweeping into the room. Teela looked around the corridor, before pressing the access panel and sealing the door. Alerie smiled, looking at the beautifully laid table before her, before reaching into her robes and withdrawing a conical object (_Scan detects only dextro-alcoholic presence. Weapon threat: Low_).

‘I thought I might bring you some additional sustenance. I know how Quarians can get with normal stuff. My master was always looking for a beautiful Quarian for a wife. He kept this for that occasion. As he won’t be needing it now…’

Gingerly, Alerie offered the bottle over to Teela, who simply gaped at the offering, beneath her visor. Grasping it carefully, she stared at it in awe.

‘Do you know what this is? This is D-Bros from Rannoch, before the Morning War. The last person I heard who had one of these had to sell the owner half a planet to acquire it. They tried to start making it again since the reclamation, but they have never got it quite right.’

Putting the bottle gingerly down on the table, she reached up for her mask. Alerie seemed to fly across the room to get to her, grasping her hands. Teela seemed to recoil.

‘What are you doing? I may have been away for a while, but I know why you wear these suits.’

At this, Teela seemed to relax. Splaying her hands, Alerie slowly, cautiously removed her hands from Teela’s wrists.

‘Since the reclamation, it has been a general decree from the Admiralty. Any and all Quarians are to receive immunity boosters. More than enough for this ships atmosphere. Totally insufficient for most Levo based worlds, but sufficient for the time being. I want to see you. Properly. And I want you to see me.’

Alerie stepped back at that, slipping back to give Teela space. She reached up to the sides of her face, and, with a hiss, the clasps came undone on her mask. Pulling it gently off her face, she pushed down her hood. Alerie was bombarded with… decidedly mixed feelings about what she saw. The fur that flowed down the back of her head was well groomed and cared for, but it was her face that elicited the strongest reaction. She was truly beautiful. She would have been stunning, flawless even, if it wasn’t for a long, twisted and ugly scar, torn down from her scalp, across her nose, splitting her lip and stretching past her chin and down her neck. And it was that scar that… that did…. Things, to Alerie.

Teela seemed to pick up on her point of focus, and moved her hand up to shield her face from Alerie’s gaze. How could she have been so stupid? Of course, that bosh’tet scar would do it. She was hideous. However, as she made to put her mask on again, Alerie seemed to teleport, pulling her hand away (no mean feat), and cupping her jaw with her free hand. Once she was sure Teela wasn’t going to try to hide herself again, she moved her hand up to trace the line of the scar. Teela didn’t even react to the touch.

‘What happened?’

Hope flushed through Teela. Pity was fine. She could work with pity. There was revulsion in the tone, but not at the scar.

‘Slavers. When I was young, slavers took me, separated me from my family. This was part of the training for young Quarians. Our immune system had to become stronger. We had to be able to walk outside our suits. To better serve our Masters.’

She spat the last word, pure hatred overwhelming every other facet of her voice. When she looked up, Alerie was still there. Still cupping her jaw. Still stroking her scar. She hadn’t run. Why hadn’t she run?’

‘Why like this?’

Now, that was unexpected.

‘So that no-one could ever want us for anything but our bodies. So no-one could ever love us. So that we could never love us.’

At this, Alerie did the unexpected. She leaned forwards, and kissed Teela, fully on the lips. Teela froze. This didn’t happen. Never kisses. Not on the flesh.

‘I have to say, those Batarians were idiots.’

At this, Teela snorted. This was why she wanted to get to know the Matriarch in the first place. Comedy.

‘Why, miss Alerie, if I didn’t know better, I would think you had a thing for scars.’

At the compete silence covering the room, Teela looked Alerie straight in the face, to see her blushing furiously. Utter disbelief clouded her words.

‘No. You cannot be serious.’

Alerie had to look away. Teela grinned, the expression completely overtaking her features. Dragging Alerie into a strong embrace, she hefted the Matriarch off the ground, binding her firmly in her arms. Then, however, she was distracted by the elder Asari releasing a most undignified moan. She looked at Alerie in disbelief, to see her eyes clouded with pleasure, and her cheeks practically glowing.

‘No. Way.’

And with that Teela hefted Alerie off the ground and carried her wholesale to the bed, and SSDP recalled all of his allocated memory from the observation cameras.

Geelam lay on mothers lap, gazing at the viewscreen. The blue creature and sister were laying in the bed, face down, with sister running her hand over the blue creatures back. Mother was chuckling at the sight. Looking up at mother, Geelam felt a familiar pang of guilt. Of shame. Mother was like the blue creature. Mother was more like it than him. She wouldn’t need him. She wouldn’t keep him.

He was distracted by the feel of his mother’s hand running down his jaw. He felt her rubbing the ridge where the mandible had never quite set right. He was proud of that night. He had killed the monsters, and had made mother proud. He knew that then the monsters had started chasing him, and mother had been forced to sacrifice all of her old self to save him, and for that he felt guilty. But mother said that he was worth it. That what they had now was worth all of it, only happened because of it. And mother didn’t lie.

‘Where did you get these?’

The screen. Sound flowed out from it. He couldn’t understand the words. It was all noise and pain. Unless it was mother. Only mother. Sister could make him understand, but not the words. Only mother could do that. Geelam closed his eyes, and let the sound wash over him, the melodies of the voice lulling him. He listened and he heard sister. He relaxed, and focussed on mother’s breathing.

‘As you know, the Batarians are far from subtle when it comes to training slaves. I was already eight hundred when they caught me. Old enough to be obedient, but wise enough to be dangerous. They tended to use me as an example.’

In all honesty, Geelam couldn’t see what sister saw in the creature. But then again, she did look like mother. There was that pang again. Why wasn’t he like mother?

‘What is he like? Torus Gaarn, I mean.’

‘I’ve only ever met him once, when he gave me the package and sent me to Khar’Shiera’Terriax. He was brave, and noble. He looked like your Turian, Commander Raa. What is wrong with Raa?’

Now Geelam didn’t know many words, but he knew when people were speaking about him. Mother’s breath hitched, and her heartbeat quickened. He felt her hand tracing the side of his face, as she did in circumstances where she was trying to hide her discomfort.

‘Geelam is a really nice person when you get down to it. I think he treats me as his sister. Lianess is his mother. She’s the only one that can really make him understand. But he is far smarter than he lets on. He just had a hard life. He saved me, once, during the third Suppression.’

Mother relaxed at that, her heart slowing. Geelam let out a sigh. He never liked it when mother worried. He tended to hurt the things that made her worry, and that made her sad.

‘She told me that the Alliance found you when you were seven. What happened to you then?’

Sister looked at the creature, staring it full in the face.

‘I trained. I wanted to hurt the Citadel. I wanted to hurt the slavers. So Krona helped me on my way. I was given this ship to pilot when I graduated the academy. And then the third Suppression began. I was deployed to patrol large areas of Terminus space, along the Traverse. I hunted frigates, cruisers, battleships, even the odd dreadnought. After a while, however, I pissed off the wrong people. I destroyed a dreadnought from the Hierachy, known as the Sword of the Primarchs. They formed a task fleet to hunt me down. I was cornered near Omega, and then the Captain and Geelam appeared. Krona sent them to recover me and the ship. As you can tell, they succeeded.’

With that, Geelam finally drifted off into the void of sleep.


	3. Danse Macabre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forces gather and powers move

Chapter 3- Danse Macabre

_The Second Terminus Suppression was launched a decade and a half after the first. Once it became clear that the vicious turf wars between Terminus warlords wouldn’t be ended by the prior Council interference, the Citadel opted for a new tactic. They simply supplied weapons and funding for a series of warlords whose interests directly opposed Aria T’loak and Omega. For the longest time this appeared to work. However, the rise of the Terminus Alliance put paid to the long plan. Their actions merely drove Aria into the waiting arms of the Alliance. The STG moved from an espionage footing to a fully-fledged war footing, funding numerous attacks on Alliance holdings, and sponsoring pirate raids and mercenary attacks. After a period, however, it became clear that the Alliance was here to stay. Numerous troublemakers and political headaches fled to the Alliance, taking a great deal of wealth with them. The most influential of these was Matriarch Benezia T’soni, who took her entire fortune and her daughter with her. The Salarian Union and the Asari Republics moved from espionage to all out incursion to counter the flood of fleeing dissidents. The result was resounding failure. Thousands of troops defected and joined the Alliance. The Turian Hierarchy was forced to deploy a fleet to stabilise the situation and, for the first time in history, a Terminus power was officially acknowledged by the Citadel._

Finally. After four days of fevered anticipation in the brig, Devos Pallatios was going to see what the mysterious ‘Package’ was that the beautiful ship they were on had been sent to collect. A squad of seven heavily armoured marines stood before the large, cuboid package, covered in a huge white cloth. It stood the height of a Turian, and was about as deep as a Salarian stood tall. The Matriarch moved towards the guards, flanked on one side by the captain and on the other by the marine commander. Devos leaned in, his eyes straining. The guards hadn’t bothered to cuff him this time; why bother, the object of his interest was being unveiled today anyway.

His back ached from the scars that ran across it. They always got sore in the cold, and the brig seemed to have been designed to maximise his discomfort. All he had wanted to do was send a picture of it back home. Well, back home in such a way that the STG would be guaranteed to find it, but the Union was on the rebel’s side, was it not? Anyway, no time for that now. Out of range of any comms buoys.

‘So, Matriarch, what is this great unveiling?’

Ah, the Captain. An enigma of an Asari. The crew all seemed to have pretty much the same thing to say about her. In fact, in the face of his questions, they all seemed to have the same answer; If you want something found, ask Teela (As he discovered, the pilot. Non-migrant Quarian, if he had to guess). If you want something broken, ask Raa (The Turian Security officer. The Marine that had captured Devos in the first place seemed rough enough). If you want something dealt with, ask Lianess. So, feared yet admired. He had been unable to dig up any records on the ship hard drive, so either they had been purposely wiped, or something was hiding his access.

‘Thank you for your time, Captain. As you know, the rebellion in Hegemony space has been growing for almost a cycle now. Initially, there were weapons and warships to go around, but the Hegemony have proved very effective at securing the old stockpiles. We have been forced to use converted ships and captured weapons. This is not a good way to win a war. The Citadel Council has embargoed all arms shipments originating from non-Council space into the Hegemony, and the Hegemony has proved extremely effective at interrupting Citadel convoys. So, we hired the shadow broker for a solution.’

Turning around, Alerie yanked the cover off the package. A hush fell over the crowd. The package was a large, grey container, with a glass front exposing its contents. An Volus, curled up in a ball, suspended in the mysterious fluid.

‘One Volus?’

There was a Krogan in the doorway, with one eyebrow raised. The Asari Matriarch smiled.

‘On the contrary, the vessel is unimportant. What matters is what Mr. Von here knows. You see, there are a great many secrets in the Turian Hierarchy. Secrets that no-one could ever find. But there is one group of people you can never hide secrets from. The financiers. Mr. Von served as the Minister of War Finances during the third Suppression.’

A ripple of murmurs and shudders swept the crowd. Strong feelings there. Devos had been born into slavery shortly before the end of the Suppression. The crowd around him clearly had far greater experience of it that he.

‘What secret could be worth the defences of the base, as well as the entire defending fleet?’

That came from a particularly enraged Batarian, clutching a broken arm tight to his chest, with a massive scar covering half of his face, where a pair of eyes used to be. The scar was still raw- clearly the result of recent Juviant treatment.

‘You see, during the second Suppression, the Turian Hierarchy was pushed to the end of its supply lines for reinforcement to stabilise the Traverse after the colossal mess the Union and the Republics made of the Suppression. During the run-up to the third Suppression, the Hierarchy resolved to ensure this never happened again. They constructed a series of major resupply depots. The lynchpin of this whole system was known as the Underworld Cache. It contained enough ships to launch an immediate new fleet. The equal to anything in the Hierarchy’s armada at the time. It also contained enough weaponry, ammunition and parts to re-equip and refit the Skyllian Federation for years to come. Not to mention, it contained a full, mid-range Orbital Dockyard.’

The murmurs around the room became gasps. Devos could understand why. An Orbital Dockyard, even one a decade old, was still a prize a dozen lesser galactic powers would fight wars over to claim. With the fleet included, it was a prize that even the three major Council powers would be willing to kill for. He needed to contact the STG. He needed to contact them yesterday. At this the Matriarch moved over to the control panel at the side of the storage pod. The Captain gestured to Raa, and the at a grunt from him, the marines moved, clearing out the storage compartment. Devos moved with them, eagerly. He had no desire to be on the receiving end of the Marines bad attitude again.

He needed to find a communications panel. Screw the Federation, the Union needed this.

As Barla Von awoke, she found herself in a strange place. The last thing she could remember was eating with her family on Palaven, at a summit held by Primarch Fedorian. Then she remembered. The Asari SPECRE. Tela Vasir, or something. Von had been talking to her, when suddenly something hit her in the neck. Everything went dark. She could feel the crushing fugue closing in on her mind, choking her consciousness out of her body.

Now, however, the pain, the tentacles receded from her mind, and she caught herself staring at a white boot. Looking up, she saw the familiar features of an Asari Commando. Her body was clasped in a form fitting combat longcoat, with the tails hanging down to her ankles. The whole ensemble was pure white, with some form of three headed dog motif emblazoned on her lapel. There was the clear shape of reactive armour plates visible beneath the longcoat, and where the coat split at her lapel, the plates were visible; silver, and covered in some form of glowing blue webbing, moulding to the shape of her breasts.

This was a bad sign. She wasn’t Republics. She was clearly some form of mercenary. Looking to the side, there was another Asari. This one was a more traditional Asari, clad in the common form fitting long robes. Her facial markings were far more ornate than the other Asari, clearly identifying her as a senior matriarch. Struggling to her fleet, Von bowed before the pair of Asari.

‘My honoured matrons, how may I be of assistance to your fine selves?’

The two Asari looked at each other. Then, the military Asari looked down and replied for the pair of them.

‘Well, Mr. Von, I am so glad you asked. You see, we are engaged in a business transaction with the lovely people of the Skyllian Federation. They have a rather pressing need for all manner of military equipment. And we have it, ma’am, on extremely good authority, that you know where we can find what is, effectively, the answer to all of our prayers. So, here is what is going to happen. First, we will ask you nicely. Then, we will ask you less nicely. Then, we will really get to work on you. Then, at long last, we will hold you down, and our good Doctor Rawle will have a good play around with your brain. We can guarantee that, if it hits that stage, we will get what we want. We can also guarantee that, if we get that far, your brain will be mush and you will never function again.’

Von shivered in terror. They wanted the Underworld Cache. The Matriarch looked almost as horrified as Von felt. However, Von knew what she had to say.

‘That is a secret of the Turian Hierarchy, and I will never divulge it to those without proper security clearance.’

The Matriarch looked worried, but the Commando just sighed. Gesturing, she summoned a huge Turian. He had a scarred mandible and a truly vicious glint in his eye.

‘I was really, really hoping you would just go the easy way. Oh well, the hard way it is.’

The commando nodded, and the Turian brought his fist down on the top of the Volus’s head. The last thing Von remembered seeing was the Matriarch’s face, contorted in fear.

Alerie gulped. What sort of madness had she gotten herself into. Lianess hadn’t even paused as she went through the horrific details of what she and her crew would do to Ms Toledo if she didn’t play ball. Looking back on everything she knew, she should have seen it coming. And the morning had been going so well in the first place.

She and Teela had discovered over the last five days that they were all but made for each other. Alerie had always had… interesting tastes in partners. She could still remember the mother of her child, a viciously scarred Krogan named Evara Krommach. They had barely known each other, and had only bonded as the sole remaining partners at a mass fertility festival on Tuchanka, shortly before the onset of the rebellions. A relationship that had rather damaged her standing in the Matriarchs Council with the onset of the Krogan Rebellions. A loss of repute that would later prove fatal after her failure during the first Suppression. However, despite the repercussions, they only seemed to add to the thrill.

The attractiveness of Teela only seemed to increase as time went on. First it was the scars. The perfectly, beautifully disfiguring scars. Then the stories from the wars across the Terminus. The joyous tales of adventure. The fascinating worlds she had seen across the Terminus. And then, finally, Teela’s physical strength. It was a little-known fact that Quarians are in fact some of the strongest organics in the galaxy, easily able to overpower all but Krogan in straight up physical confrontations.

Quarian bones are as tough as armor, and their musculature is twice as dense as an Asari’s or a Turians. Their skulls are largely fused, rendering them highly resilient to crushing or fracturing forces, while the Quarian brain is enveloped in a viscous gel that works well to absorb impacts and slow movement. All in all, immune system aside, Quarians are some of the most resilient creatures in the galaxy, and that is before their reinforced enviro-suits are taken into account. In combat this translated to highly effective shock troops, at least until their immune systems are exposed.

In the bedroom it made for an enduring and physically dominant lover. While on the first night they had discovered that, they had been steadily experimenting, and, after many, many, MANY trials, they had finally discovered their favourite approaches.

It was to Teela that Alerie now fled. Her dear Quarian was ensconced in the pilots command chair She turned upon hearing Alerie approach, and was just able to brace herself before they collided. Alerie hugged tight onto Teela, whimpering as she buried her head in Teela’s chest. Teela, surprised by the sudden contact, stayed stock still for a moment. Them, as the surprise wore off, she rested one hand on Alerie’s back, while she used the other to stroke her hair. Slowly, Alerie began to clam down. Teela held her close, allowing her to let herself out, buried in Teela’s shoulder, clutched tightly to her.

After a few minutes, Alerie was finally able to compose herself. Standing up, she drew herself together, and faced Teela. Teela examined her, before breaking eye contact.

‘SSDP release door controls’

‘_Confirmed; We hope you achieve success in your goals._’

‘Thank you SSDP. Now, what is wrong.’

Alerie was looking at her with the ghost of a smile on her face.

‘You locked the doors?’

‘You are the leader of a substantial rebel faction seeking to overthrow one of the major galactic powers of the Milky Way. You cannot be seen to be emotional in public. Now, what is wrong? I thought the display went quite well. Quite a good centrepiece, good shock value, and strong use of props, coupled with a skilled showman. Not to mention, a very attractive assistant, if I do say so myself.’

Alerie gasped, and slapped her on the shoulder.

‘Who’s an Assistant! And its not about the display. Did you know what your captain is going to do to her if she doesn’t play ball?’

At this, Teela sank into her chair. Reaching up, she rubbed her head underneath her hood.

‘I assume Lianess explained the four stages of interrogation. I can assure you, we do not want to let it get too far.’

Alerie was shocked. Her delightful, attached… lover. The beautiful Teela… knew exactly what the captain was going to do. And she… didn’t… care.

‘You… know? And you don’t… care?’

Teela looked at her. She looked somewhere between surprised and forlorn.

‘Of course. I helped to create the system. Most people don’t get past the third stage.’

‘You.. you helped?’

‘Yes. We… we developed it during the Third Suppression. We needed information, and we needed it fast. And, most of all, we needed it reliable. Lianess could use the mind meld to ensure truthfulness, but we needed the data in the first place. Thus, we developed our system. Four stages to gain any information we needed.’

Alerie could feel bile building up in her throat. Her heart felt like a jackhammer. Her lungs seemed to shrink several sizes.

‘What… what happens?’

‘Well, first, we explain what the four stages are, and then ask the subject to co-operate. Then, we stun them, and hold them in isolation for a time, and ask them again, this time as a bad cop. If they still lie, or refuse to talk, we start working on them physically. Fingernails, bones, skinning. Whatever works to inflict pain. If we had more time we’d use water or some other form of psychological torture.’

Alerie was horrified. The Terminus had always been known for being particularly brutal, but this was systematic. It was horrific.

‘And what… what happens next?’

Teela looked her straight in the eye.

‘The fourth stage is that we strap the subject into a series of electrodes, and melt their brain. Make them totally open to access. Lianess just moves through their mind and extracts the necessary information. No filters, no barriers.’

Alerie got up and left, running out of the bridge and fleeing to her cabin. Every step she took was shadowed by Teela’s soft, muffled whimpering cries.

Nevaros was done with this charade. After his battered fleet had limped back to Khar’Shan, they had immediately been surrounded by the Hegemony home fleet, and dragged back to the Teth orbital docks. Now, he was brought before the Admiralty board. There were two vice admirals, Telos Verosas and Maelek Kolash. Behind them stood Admiral of the Fleet Ka’hairal Balak. Kolash was clearly out for blood, while Verosas was almost entirely in denial of reality. Balak, meanwhile had remained silent.

‘Tell us again, Nevaros. Tell us why a full fleet, including a dreadnought, was unable to breach and destroy a single lunar bases defence force in time to prevent the package from escaping.’

Kolash was really pressing this. He was determined to pin this on Nevaros. And Nevaros had answered this same question over a dozen times already. He was done. Fed up and finished with these infuriating questions.

‘As I have repeatedly stated to the Admiralty Board, Admiral Kolash, the reason the defenders were able to endure for so long was a result of a multitude of factors. Our ships were of shockingly poor quality, and the defenders were quipped with an outdated by effective sub-orbital defence platform system. The initial plan was to use the Dreadnoughts superior range to eliminate the defence platforms while keeping casualties low. However, due to the dreadnought’s cripplingly low rate of fire, our stay was delayed, and a stealth ship of unknown origin was able to infiltrate behind our defence line…’

‘You say a stealth ship. How were our sensors unable to detect it?’

‘Unknown Admiral Kolash. As I was saying, it was able to infiltrate behind our lines and destroy the dreadnought, before making a dash towards the base. It was clearly affiliated with the rebels, as the defence fire was broken to allow them through.’

‘These traitors and rebels have no-where near the level of organisation to construct a stealth ship. Impossible.’

‘Do not underestimate the organisation of the Rebels, Admiral Verosas. Even so, you are correct. Only the major Citadel races have the technology to construct a vessel like that. After the destruction of the Dreadnought, I deployed the fleet for a full attack on the defences. We were able to overpower the defences and land troops on the surface. The defenders resisted effectively. We suspect they were bolstered by the marine contingent of the stealth ship, further reinforcing the probable Council origin of the vessel.’

‘The Council. They are weak, and jealous of the Hegemony. They must be punished for their hubris.’

Nevaros rolled his eyes at Verosas’s statement. He had no idea how the Admiral was this delusional. However, before he could express his sentiment, Kolash interrupted him.

‘What happened to the defenders? Our intelligence services have issued strict orders that any corpses or prisoners be brought back here.’

‘The defenders evacuated the base and detonated a sub-terrain nuclear device. It destroyed the remaining assault force and a number of support vessels. After that we withdrew all remaining forces and withdrew here.’

Kolash and Verosas looked at each other. Then they focussed on Nevaros. For the first time, he saw the glowing specs of machinery in their eyes.

‘We must strike out at the council before they are able to completely dominate the rebels.’

Nevaros was about to roar in protest, when he suddenly received a communication to his wrist receiver. Looking down, he rapidly flicked through the incoming messages, his eyes widening.

‘What is it, Vice Admiral’

Balak finally raised his voice.

‘Lord Admiral; during the battle, I was able to make contact with a deep cover mole in the defenders. He has just sent me the details of their cargo. The rebels have in their possession the key to locating a Turian supply cache dating from the third Suppression. It’s a treasure trove, sir. Enough to turn the tide of the war.’

At this, Balak rose. Drawing a pistol, he fired it twice in quick succession. Admirals Kolash and Versoras fell from their seats, holes blown through their heads. Nevaros stumbled back, tripping over his Hegemonic robes. When he looked up again, he saw Balak smiling down at him.

‘Muster the fleet. That Cache will be ours.’

Mordin Surban looked down at the huge computer banks. The STG headquarters on Sur’kesh were superbly well equipped, and had an effectively infinite reach. Almost every signal in the galaxy passed through this facility at some stage. And now there was a very interesting signal intercept, filing in from deep in Batarian space. A whisper of a rumour of a massive weapons cache in deep Terminus space. It was the sort of discovery that could change the balance of power in Batarian space, and would be of immense value for the STG. They had never been able to construct a decently sized fleet, restricted by the Union government as a deliberate counter to the STG’s vast power.

Unfortunately, if they had this signal, the Hegemony admiralty would as well. Oh, well, the secret was out. The time for intelligence and subtlety was over. Now was the time for violence. Swiping on his wrist display, he sent the information to the STG command board. Seconds later he had received his response. The STG was going to war.


	4. Vigor Mortis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Clash

_The Third Terminus Suppression was the final attempt by the Council to instil its authority on the Attican traverse and the Terminus. This time the military operation was knowingly preceded by an extended vicious shadow war between the STG and Council SPECTRES on one side, and the new TA Security Service on the other. This goals were far more modest than prior operations, and the Turian Hierarchy was spearheading the attack. The Council sought to break the monopoly of power held by the Terminus Alliance by breaking their fleet. Then they sought to build a buffer zone in the Traverse, in order to provide a shield against future aggression from the Terminus. The war started badly, with a sloppy, messily fought running battle across the Ciptrine Gap. The war raged for less than a cycle before the Council forces were forced to withdraw beyond the Terminus borders. While it was far less brutal than the prior Suppressions, it was however marked by a single moment of infamy. The STG, in co-operation with the Turians, deployed a terraforming agent on half a dozen rough settled worlds on the borders of Terminus space. While the bulk of the worlds were successfully evacuated, the biosphere was permanently changed, with all Levo-chirality eradicated by the terraforming agent._

Torturing an Volus was quite hard. While their biology was more than familiar enough to work with, what complicated proceedings was their suits. The Volus homeworld was both of high pressure and had an extremely hostile atmosphere to non-Volus, and thus they were forced to exist within pressurised, sealed environment suits to keep themselves alive. Much like the Quarians, this made prolonged torture difficult.

Lianess wasn’t about to let a little thing like that slow her down however. During the second Suppression, she and Geelam had learned the appropriate way to torture Hanar after all, and if you could successfully torture an aquatic species, a suit rat would be no problem at all. And that was how she found herself standing beside Doctor Rawle in the environment room of the Dawn. The environment room was originally a sort of jury rigged aquarium, designed to allow them to interrogate their Hanar captive successfully with electric shocks. Since then, it had been refitted, and was now capable of simulating any environment in the galaxy. Which was why it was now a toxic mess of high pressure ammonia. Mr. Von was strapped down to the operating table at the centre of the room, a series of electrodes attached to her shaved scalp.

Rawle was an interesting specimen. A fairly old Vorcha, at the ripe old age of sixteen, he had a frankly distressing aptitude for causing pain. It was a skill she had found extremely attractive when she picked him up at the dawn of the third Suppression, as he was fleeing with the remains of his mercenary company from the Hierarchy’s offensive. Even at the young age of six, he had already tortured and killed at least half a dozen traitors to his company. She had personally found him removing his commander’s liver with a ferocious degree of finesse, given his total lack of surgical training. She had enrolled him in medical academy, under an assumed name, and had returned two years later to collect him after his various excesses had lead to his expulsion.

Needless to say, a desperate love of inflicting pain lead to impressive surgical intuition.

Looking down at their specimen, Lianess smiled at the Volus. Ms Von was only just beginning to rouse from her slumber in isolation. This was the way it always went. Leave the prisoner to rot, and think about what they were told for a little while. Now, the time had come for the next part, which was why Lianess was standing with her rebreather covering her face, beside Doctor Rawle.

‘Wakey wakey sleepy head!’

Goddamit! Rawle needed to figure something out with that voice. It was entirely too sing-songey for the monstrous beast. He was leaning over Mr. Von, her face inches from his. In one hand he held a scalpel, while in the other his claws were showing, hovering millimetres above the poor Volus’s face. Lianess sent a silent prayer to the goddess that Mr. Von would be wise enough to speak. She was sure the Vorcha was praying for the exact opposite. He wanted his fun.

‘Mr. Vons. It is time for you to wake up now.’

Ms Vons’s eye flickered open. She seemed to flinch as she saw the Vorcha, hovering above her face.

‘Where is my suit?’

At this Lianess smiled.

‘Sadly, it was superfluous to requirements. And rather impedes our efforts to… interact with you. Thus, it was removed. And if this goes badly, it will be destroyed.’

Von’s eyes focussed on Lianess. There was clear fear in her eyes now. But she could see something else as well. Stubbornness. Resilience. Determination.

‘So, we will ask you again. Where is the Underworld Cache?’

‘Why should I tell you?’

‘Because someone is going to find that cache. And the question you need to ask yourself is; who do you want it to be? The plucky band of rebels, fighting for freedom? The Council, who would never stoop themselves to help the little people of this Galaxy? Or the Hegemony? It is in your hands.’

At this Von started to laugh. Lianess looked over to Rawle, who looked truly puzzled.

‘Torus Gaarn is not a hero. Hegemon Telok is not a villain. This isn’t a story. I know all about you and your kind. The slaves of the Alliance. Fighting for what you believe in because you have seen the excesses of the Council. Have you ever seen Pollus? Or Nerias? Have you seen what your Alliance did? Forty million Turian citizens annihilated on Pollus by nuclear bombardment. Seven million Volus slaughtered on Nerias by Blood Pack mercenaries. I have seen what your Alliance can do. And now the _Flawless Hero, _Torus Gaarn is sliding into bed with filth like you. Matriarch Benezias, the finest of all the children of Thessia fell into the arms of your wretched masters. There are no heroes or villains in this galaxy. Only the strong and the weak. And you won’t kill me. You need me. You’re weak. You need to be strong. I have the key.’

By now Lianess was snarling at her. She almost jumped forwards, as if about to speak, but then caught herself. Breathing out, she smiled.

‘Thank you, Mr. Von. Thank you. No need to hide. No need to play or games. You understand us. You know what kind of people we are. We are just like you. The scum of the earth. So thank you. Because now we don’t even need to play our game.’

Turning to Rawle, Lianess smirked.

‘We are skipping straight to stage four. Have your fun.’

The horrific smile on his face put a chill into Lianess’s bones. Looking down, Lianess could see the horror in Mr. Von’s eyes.

‘You have six hours. I want her brain to be cracked open, and everything in the mush that is her soul laid bare.

When Teela opened Alerie’s door, she could hear the Asari sniffling on her bed. Closing the door behind her, she shuffled towards the bed, carefully trying to measure her footsteps. The beautiful blue woman was curled up in a ball at one end of her bed. Teela tried to reach out to her, her three-fingered hand brushing against her arm. Alerie immediately stilled, stopping moving entirely at the feel of the Quarian’s fingers on her sleeve.

When she had stormed away, Teela had wept. She could barely remember the last time she had cried. It was probably after the Alliance had freed her, and the truth of her parents’ death had finally sunk in. When it had become obvious that she was completely alone. Her family was gone. Her race was gone. Her only chance of finding them, gone. And so, free from the whips and shocks of the slavers, she had broken down and cried. She had wept as she moved through processing. And she wept now. Why was she being like this? Alerie had known what sort of person she was, hadn’t she?

Evidently that hadn’t been enough.

‘Was this what you meant? Life is too short? That we could never have this, because of what we are? That we had to make the most of the time we had before we realised how rotten we are inside?’

Alerie’s hoarse voice cut deep into Teela. Moving closer, she grasped the Matriarch’s arms, and pulled her up, into her lap. Holding her closer, she allowed Alerie to burrow her head into her shoulder, rubbing her back gently. After a moment’s hesitation, Alerie grasped her around the centre, pulling herself in closer to Teela, gripping her hard.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, before Teela made her decision. She released her grasp of Alerie. The Matriarch looked up, forlorn and desperate, only to see Teela’s hands moving for her mask. Slowly, gingerly, se removed the obstructive headgear, rolling down her hood and placing the mask on the bed. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the scent of Alerie’s room, soaking in the familiar but just slightly alien scents of levo habitation. Releasing her pent-up breath, Teela leaned down towards the beautiful matriarch, and pressed her forehead against blue skin. Alerie seemed to relax, pressing back harder, and bringing a hand up to caress her jaw.

Alerie sat up, pulling away from Teela.

‘I want to know everything.’

Teela just blinked, stunned into silence.

‘Ev… everything?’

‘I want to know you. Not just see you. I want to know who you are. What you’ve done. I want o know what you hope to become. And what this…’

She said, gesturing between them

‘… what this is. Where do you want it to go? When the Captain acquires the cache and the Alliance has its understanding with the Federation. What will you do then?’

Teela stared at her. Alerie could almost see the gears turning in the young Quarian’s head. Quarian faces were remarkably expressive, especially since they never controlled their expressions- a side effect from living their whole lives in suits.

‘O… ok. What do you want to know?’

At this, Alerie let out the breath she had been holding in.

‘Well… what happened to you during the third Suppression? You were only seventeen cycles old. You fought, and at some stage you had need enough to create a new form of torture. Why?’

Teela lay down on the bed. Alerie started massaging her booted foot as she started reciting her story.

‘When the third Suppression started, I had just entered my second year at the Alliance Naval Academy. I was a good pilot. Better than good, really. So one day, a group of Alliance officials came to me. Apparently Geelam had killed Lianess’s last pilot after he made one too many comments at the Captain’s expense. So they offered me a role. They told me that they had a special ship, just waiting for a top-notch pilot. A ship that would be pivotal the next time the Council came knocking.’

Alerie closed her eyes at this. It sounded like exactly the kind of offer Teela would have jumped at, by the sound of her earlier story. Fighting the people that she blamed for killing her parents. Fighting for the people who took her in. All in all, a jackpot. Teela noticed, and sniggered.

‘I can see it on your face. You already know how I reacted to that. We were initially deployed during the shadow war with the STG, months before the actual Suppression began. Have you ever fought in an intelligence war?’

At this, Alerie shook her head. During the first Suppression, it had been all to easy. If they weren’t Citadel, blast them to bits. Teela grimaced.

‘Don’t. You spend most of it in constant battle stations, waiting for something that may well never happen. We ambushed Blood Pack leaders, killed separatists, even eliminated the odd Alliance officer who was looking a bit too eager to start the whole damn maelstrom off. And we blew dozens of STG ships out of the sky. Then, we were given our real mission. You see, while the STG was officially seeding dissident, the Alliance wanted to make a statement back. We knew that a Hanar SPECTRE was making a bit too much trouble on Tervis IV. I don’t know what you know about Tervis; I found it a bosh’tet’ath hellhole. But it was an important facility. Large communications relay. Long range Alliance hub. Decent garrison. Do you know what that pyjack did to them?’

Alerie had many ideas about what a SPECTRE could have done to an unprepared garrison. Nevertheless, she gestured for Teela to tell her.

‘She detonated a small-scale fusion warhead beneath the barracks, and summoned an Eclipse mercenary band using the captured communications tech. We arrived just as the attack hit home. You should have seen us. We slaughtered those Eclipse pyjacks, and then, we landed. And we saw what those beasts had done. There were sixty thousand inhabitants in the main city before the attack. We found two thousand survivors. The Eclipse ship had simply bombed the city when it became clear we were going to get them all in space.’

Teela was shaking at the moment, her fists clenching with indignant rage.

‘A bosh’tet’ath city, full of civilians. The SPECTRE’s bomb had already killed off the garrison. They did it just to hurt the Alliance. So when we came down to the surface, we made them hurt. But the one we really wanted was the SPECTRE. So, we needed them to talk. We found the Omni-tool could be modified to administer electric shocks, and the Captain was already very familiar with the… ins and outs of their physiologies. But we needed more. The Hanar, as you well know, are aquatic by default. And I had to make sure we could give our guest a proper greeting. Do you have any idea how hard it is to correctly translate Hanar without access to the Council translation mainframe? But I did it. I converted a room on the dawn, made it just perfect for our guest.’

Teela spat the last word, her entire body tensing up in rage, her face twisted into an ugly sneer.

‘That was when the Captain found out how to make the level four interrogation work. Where we needed to hit. All it took was three foolish prisoners. One Turian, one Krogan, and one bosh’tet’ath Quarian. The Captain ripped the information from their minds, and we knew what we had to do. When we found that damn Hanar, we trussed her up good and tight, and sealed her inside the room. Then, we ripped her mind to pieces using the omni tools and the mind meld. We obliterated every scrap of her personality and dragged her memories down onto the ship’s core.’

Alerie felt almost relived, but then Teela carried on.

‘And with that, we had what we needed. Spectre access codes. So, we went to Pollus. A large Turian colony. And we deployed Krona’s _Vengeance _weapon. It was an artificial plague. We called it the Blessing of Terminus. Utterly inimical to any carbon-based life. It spread like wildfire. Twenty million Turians were dead within the first month. The rest were quarantined by the Hierarchy fleet. When a dozen STG experts were infected and died attempting to study it, the Primarchs simply labelled it as a lost cause. They bombarded the surface of the world until all life had been wiped clean from its surface. Of course, they let the public know that an Alliance fleet had nuked the planet from orbit. A horrific atrocity, but just one of many we were committing across the Terminus and Council space. And the Citadel finally had the excuse it needed to attack.’

Alerie felt cold. Twenty million. How… Wait.

‘How many more Turians were killed by their own government to stop the plague from spreading?’

Teela looked at her, tears rolling down her face.

‘There were twenty million more citizens on the planet, and the Hierarchy destroyed almost a thousand trade ships to prevent any possibility of contagion. They fired the shells, but we killed them. They were just like the people on Tervis. Slavers are one thing, but these were civilians. They always accused us of being savages. Maybe they were right. Maybe that’s why they had Quarians helping them.’

‘Why are you so upset about the Quarians?’

‘The council has never done anything for the Quarians. When we were the migrant fleet, they turned up their noses at us. When we became the Primacy, down beyond Relay 314, they excommunicated us. The Alliance has been the only friend to us for far too long.’

‘What do you mean, beyond Relay 314? That’s uncharted space. You would have broken council law.’

‘The migrant fleet did. They ignored the council, and fled beyond the relay. Then, after the Vanishing, they returned to Rannoch. They flouted the Council. They proved it could be done. And then the Alliance moved to capitalise on that. The only reason the Council failed to retaliate for the fleet’s flouting of law was the rise of the Alliance and the First Suppression, and the only reason the Alliance was able to achieve what it did was because the fleet showed that it could be done.’

Teela’s voice was choked, thick with emotion. Alerie moved up the bed, and rested Teela’s head on her lap. Still, something confused her.

‘You talk about the fleet. Never about us. Why don’t you consider yourself a part of that?’

At this, Teela looked into Alerie’s eyes, her gaze hardening, and said;

‘Because my parents were weak. Because we didn’t deserve to end our pilgrimage.’

‘Bahak’

‘Are you certain, Norvius. That is a long way outside of our standard operations range.’

‘I am certain Fleet Admiral. The Asari made the announcement earlier, just after we dumped the corpse into space.’

Balak seemed to pause, contemplating the next move to make. Then, he nodded. Turning around within the hologram, he gestured to an unseen figure behind him. Likely another Hologram.

‘Admiral Nevaros, move the fleet to Bahak. Be prepared for unpleasant surprises. Make sure all sensor suites are at full functionality. And if you see even a single Salarian, blow them to ashes. The STG has been seen massing over Sur’kesh, and I very much doubt that it is for display.’

Turning back to Norvius, he continued.

‘Corporal Norvius, there is an STG mole onboard your ship. I need him eliminated. If the STG gets hold of that cache, there is a serous risk that they will undermine the entire foundation of our great Hegemony. For the Hegemon.’

‘For the Hegemon.’

Norvius powered down the hologram, just in time to hear the click of a firearm being primed behind his head. Grunting, he dropped the projector, and raised his good hand above his head. Rising to his full height, he turned around, and then blinked with his two good eyes. There was no-one there. Looking down, he finally saw his assailant. Devos… something or other. The infuriating Salarian. Wait. Norvius grinned. So this was the STG’s spy. A troublemaking imp.

‘I’m really not sure this is something you should be smiling about, slaver.’

At that, Norvius snarled.

‘The council recognises our right to exert our culture in its proper order. Despite all of your intrusive efforts to change what needs no changing.’

‘Ah yes, the old moralising cultural argument. I will admit, we really dropped the ball on that one. Never mind. It will all be made good soon enough. Soon, the STG will be able to make your Hegemony do exactly what it wants.’

Norvius roared. Taking a shot to his side, he grasped the salarian’s thin arm, and twisted it back, hard. The Salarian squeaked in agony, and dropped the weapon. The fool. Norvius brought his head back to smash it hard into Devos’s face. Both combatants roared in pain as their skulls protested the move, and Norvius used his superior mas to body slam the smaller lizard into the wall. His damaged arm screamed in protest, but he ignored it. He was losing blood fast from the gunshot wound in his side, and needed this to be over quickly.

And it was, in a way. One second he was lunging to rip out the salarian’s throat with his teeth, and the next he was flying across the room as he felt the unmistakable impact of a crowd control slug in his side. Crashing into the wall of the storage room, he looked up, to see the memorable, damaged face of the security chief, commander Raa. He was flanked by a Krogan, who was holding the bawling Salarian by the shoulders in a vice like grip. Internally, Norvius smirked. As Raa brought up his boot, Norvius’s last thought before it crashed down was that yes, he had just proved that Batarians were more deserving of space than the pathetic Salarians, regardless of what the council said.

_SSDP Recording Terminated._

Lianess snarled down at Norvius from her seat. He smirked at that. Always good to know you had truly fucked your enemy’s plan right truly up the high road. Then he howled. At a gesture from the Captain, the worryingly hungry looking Vorcha holding him had rammed its knee into the untreated gunshot wound in his side.

‘May… may I explain?’

Ah, the repltile survived. Looking over at his companion in bondage, he saw that the Salarian’s arm still hung uselessly by his side. A proud smirk crossed his face.

‘No chance of talking your way out of this one, lizard boy…’

Norvius was interrupted as the Vorcha drove its claw into his injured side. The Vorcha had a strange look on its face as he roared out in agony. Almost… bliss? It was disturbing as all hell.

‘What were you going to tell me, Devos? Assuming that is, of course, your real name. That you were an STG agent, earning fame and glory during the run-up to the third Suppression, only to then lose it all when war broke out and slavers captured you after your council left you for dead? Because that I will believe. More or less anything else will earn you little sympathy. Either from me, or from Geelam here.’

The Salarian was looking decidedly nervous now. Then, Matriarch Alerie laid her hand on Lianess’s shoulder. The captain seemed to visibly relax at the contact, closing her eyes. The Turian, Raa, on the other hand, bristled. After a few seconds the captain opened her eyes.

‘You see, gentlemen, what we would normally do in circumstances like these is we would blast your minds with electricity until they were mush, and then drain out from them everything that makes you you. Then, once you are an empty shell and everything of value has been extracted, I would hand you over to Rawle here for a play. You see, we don’t need visible awareness to register the effect of pain receptors. And while Rawle finds you much less fun, he will take what he can get.’

At this stage, she leaned forwards and glared right into Norvius’s eyes.

‘And whoever knows what you really feel when we have ripped your very soul out from you. Rawle can always hope’

Leaning back, and sinking into her chair, she sighed.

‘However, Matriarch Alerie has begged for leniency in this case. So, instead of the aforementioned mental excavation, we will instead drop you off on the nearby moon of Tosev III. It has a breathable atmosphere, although I would hope you don’t have many long distance running ambitions. And, most importantly, the only way anyone will ever find you is if they know where to look. So, you had both better hope that the good Matriarch here remembers exactly where we are, because none of the rest of us are going to be any help.

Optimus Vakarian rolled to the side, falling hard to the floor, off the edge of the thin, military bed. Curses, he was growing too old for this. Looking around, he saw that none of the rest of his cabin had woken up. Breathing out a sigh of relief, he pulled himself to his feet, and slunk out of the room. The low hum of the engines provided a calming throb beneath his feet, although he had to say, there was a lot he would like to say about the thermostat. Why was it that all of the Federation’s ships were always just a little below body temperature?

Probably because they were ancient and decrepit, if he thought about it. He had fought on more advanced ships than this during the second Suppression. Even at its worst point, the Hierarchy had never allowed a ship to fall into such a horrific state of disrepair as this dreadnought had. What on Palaven were the Hegemony thinking, allowing a ship this magnificent to fall into such utter ruin. He could already see teams moving around the behemoth, Quarians, Asari, Vorcha, and even the odd Turian. It was strange, being in such a melting pot once again. His former owner had insisted on keeping only Turian slaves. Once he had muted them, there was little value to their resale, so instead they were ordered to serve as his private security.

When the rebels had come, he had been only too happy to help them butcher the vicious idiot as he sat at his office. When they had come after his teenaged daughter, however, Optimus had drawn the line. He had practically raised her, after all. Fourteen years of slavery. Optimus could still feel the cauterised scar tissue around his neck from his earlier disciplining. Could remember Osha’s tears as she had begged for her ‘uncle Optimus’. Could remember the vicious beating that inevitably followed as his master beat his own daughter into the ground. He could remember him screaming at her. Calling her a deviant; a malicious traitor.

After that, how could he not protect her.

Now, she was safely aboard a Terminus Alliance refugee ship, fleeing Hegemony space in he window created by Balak’s sudden departure from the region. He still couldn’t get used to referring to the Alliance as allies. It seemed like only yesterday he was fighting against their nascent fleet in an attempt to curtail their expansion. Clearly, their teeth and reach had both grown far greater while he had been away. God, he missed Moreus. He missed having only to worry about the disappearance of the Migrant Fleet. Of nervously signing up with the Hierarchy when they desperately called for aid at the end of the first Suppression, in the aftermath of the battle at Ciptrine Pass. Then the lines were clean drawn and obvious.

Which was why he was heading towards the one person in the entire galaxy that could make the whole thing simple.

Torus Gaarn was standing at the bridge, his hands clasped behind his back, as he looked out over the Ixor system. Since Alerie had completed its liberation, the system was the backbone of rebel power. Ever more ships were being re-fitted and crewed from the dockyards over Ixor’Maeth, and the fleet floating over Ixor’Trebos’Varr, the capital city of the secondary world of the system. But even a fool could see that the might amassed here was nowhere near sufficient for the task to which Gaarn had set them. The Hegemony still commanded the core systems, and their fleet-building capacity was far greater than the rebels could ever hope to match.

Nevertheless, instead, of attempting to bring the fight to the Hegemony, they simply sat here, waiting for the support that would never come. No force would ever come to help them. The Citadel would never stoop to directly supporting the rebels, while the Alliance would never provide military assistance, largely because they were unwilling to agitate the Citadel too much. While that help the Alliance did provide in the form of funding and military hardware was invaluable, it would only ever keep them in the war, not allow them to win it.

And yet here he stood, a pillar of strength, not even allowing a moment of concern to come across his face. Optimus was in awe. His Admiral during the suppression, an officer two decades his junior, had been very much open in his concerns. Open to the captains and the bridge officers. It had been extremely valuable for morale; every man in the room knew what was going on, and their confidence allowed them to lead their troops more effectively. But those were trained soldiers. These were terrified, displaced, broken people. And they needed strength.

He could respect that.

He was drawn from his thoughts as Gaarn smiled.

‘They’re here.’

Then, a series of three colossal ships burst out from the Mass Relay, all but obscuring Ixor and dwarfing the hodgepodge the Assembly of vessels over Ixor’Trebos.


	5. Krona

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter in the first (and thus far only) completed story line.

_The Terminus Alliance was formed from the ashes of the Talos Protectorate in the aftermath of the first Terminus Suppression. The protectorate fell apart under heavy internal insurrection stirred up by the STG, and the surviving elements sought to eradicate those issues. Over time, the Alliance drew in more and more powerful and talented people from across the galaxy, and managed to go from loose collection of pirates, gangs and mercenary companies to a fully-fledged galactic power in its own right. Now, the Alliance is recognised by the Citadel as the de facto power of the Terminus, and their treaty with Omega and their vast holdings affords them immense economic power across the galaxy. Last, but not least, the Terminus Alliance military is widely recognised as second only to the Turian Hierarchy, restricted only by the limitations of the Treaty of Farixen. Even then, they rather played the odds, and Alliance dreadnoughts were usually vastly larger and far more heavily armed than their Citadel equivalents._

The Dawn had become extremely quiet during the approach to the Viper Nebula. The two disappearances from the crew caused no small amount of panic, and it was clear to everyone, whether they attended the meeting on the bridge or not, that something was seriously wrong. The command staff were all nervous, and a general atmosphere of foreboding settled over the ship. In fact, the only people on the ship that seemed in any way upbeat were Teela and Alerie; after their extensive heart to heart, their relationship had rekindled with a passion, and if it were not for their pressing duties, Lianess was fairly certain they would never leave their cabin. Alerie had moved her precious few belongings out of her designated cabin up to Teela’s, and if she was needed, on the more than one occasion she seemed to totally disappear, it was a good bet she would be found in the cabin.

The crew had learned, however, that if they went in, it was always a good idea to knock. One poor Asari had been on the receiving end of a biotically charged spoon the last time that mistake had been made, and the crew had subsequently manufactured a series of betting pools for the next poor sod who would end up in traction after they were forced to interrupt one of the couple’s marathons. Lianess herself had singled out a particularly annoying Batarian by the name of Ker’vosh as her most likely candidate. Surprisingly, the odds for him dramatically increased after the ship’s Captain laid her money on him.

But Lianess had more serious concerns than the betting pool right now. Primus had detected the mole’s transmission, but had been unable to interrupt the message’s delivery. So, now the Hegemony knew about the Cache. And if the Hegemony knew, it was a safe bet the STG knew as well. And to complicate matters further, she recognised the name of the Batarian vice admiral. Nevaros. He had been commanding the battle over Khar’Shiera’Terriax. He knew how the Dawn worked.

So, all in all, the full strength of the STG or a fully equipped fleet from the Hegemony could be waiting for them, and the Dawn wouldn’t be able to hide from either of them. The Slipsilver Dawn was quite an old ship now, and while its stealth drive was still more advanced than almost anything the Batarian’s could throw at it, such technological proficiency was well within the abilities of the STG. Further, there were several tricks of the trade, at least of which Lianess knew, that would allow even much lower tech scanners to detect her. And if the Batarian admiral was anywhere near competent, which he did seem to be (for all their faults, the Hegemony didn’t suffer fools gladly), he would have been hard at work bypassing the stealth drive. Which meant that not only would the Dawn likely be heavily outnumbered, if not massively so, her primary defensive technology would likely be useless to hide her from the inevitable storms of fire that would come her way.

While Lianess was confident in her abilities, and those of her crew, she was not liking these odds. But there was no time to delay now. Speed was of the essence. If they couldn’t reach that Cache first, there was no chance for her crew or for the rebellion she was now supporting. The Skyllian Federation would collapse into fire and death before it was even born. It reminded her of the Alliance, during the first Suppression. It had seemed to desperate. So weak. Overshadowed by the failings of the Protectorate that preceded it, and doomed to suffer the same fate before the guns of the Hierarchy. Only then came along the Gap. And the Alliance proved that it was strong.

The Cache would make the Federation strong. The reading she had torn from the Volus’s mind had more than proved that. She shuddered at that thought. She didn’t like skipping straight to stage four. It reminded her too much of… Of a time, she would rather forget. The Volus really hadn’t deserved it. She had seen that. The lady had lost friends on Pollus. Family on Neiras. She had every reason to hate the Alliance. But it had stung when she said it. And Lianess didn’t take pain well. So she had overreacted. Again. And naturally, Rawle had been deeply unwilling to stop her. He had far too much fun blasting the Volus’s brain with electricity. But it had been worth it. They would make it worth it. So many ships. So many weapons. Ammunition, parts, and of course, the all important dock. A veritable king’s ransom.

And its location. Bahak. Of course, it was Bahak. Even she had heard of the dead worlds of the Viper Nebula. The eternal monuments to the power of the Citadel. It was the perfect place to stash a secret of this magnitude. The only fleets that regularly patrolled the region were Turian in nature. Fortunately, the Volus’s brain also gave her the evacuation codes, and so the region had been emptied in quick time. While she was sure this would only last until Palaven high command got wind of it, it would provide them with the needed window.

They just had to get there, get the Cache, and get out, in super quick time. And pray that Admiral Balak was too slow to muster his forces to catch them while they were unprepared.

Lianess was drawn from her thoughts by the sound of the bridge door opening behind her. Turning in her chair, she saw Matriarch Alerie walk in, flanked on one side by a doe eyed Teela, and on the other by a bristling Geelam. She fought to suppress a smirk. It seemed Geelam’s distaste for the Matriarch was not going anywhere in a hurry. But for now, there was one question she was determined to ask.

‘What is it?’

The three intruders flinched at that. Lianess cursed. She hadn’t meant to sound so direct. She was just stressed, and haunted with uncertainty over their destination. It was Teela who spoke up.

‘Weeeeell…. You see… We were wondering if it would be possible to micro jump to Bahak? Rather than using the relay. We know it will be slower, but if there is already someone there, waiting for us, would it be better to appear in a slightly less… you know… obvious way?’

At this, Lianess paused, contemplating. Then, wearily, she shook her head.

‘If there are already ships there, they’ll be STG. You know what STG scanners are like. Hammer or scalpel, we’ll need a big, big distraction to slip past un-noticed.’

Teela visibly deflated at this. Alerie, seemingly unconsciously, leaned in closer to her lover, grasping her hand, while she shot Lianess a look. While its recipient was quite amused, Geelam was most certainly not. His hand was halfway to his sidearm when he caught Lianess’s eye, and his hand stilled. After a few seconds of non-verbal communication, he let out a breath, and allowed his arm to relax.

Silence reigned for a few moments, before Alerie spoke.

‘I have an idea…’

Dalatress Morish stood atop the bridge of her ship, the STGS EOTC. Wow, she hated the STG’s naming conventions. Why did they always have to be so secretive? It was a beautiful, top of the range Battleship. It deserved a proper name. The rest of her fleet was spread out around her.

So many small ships, she mused. The restrictions imposed on the STG by the Union government, prevented them from fielding ships of Dreadnought class weight, if those vessels were constructed using Union funding. Morish was very much aware that this was a deliberate loophole, written into their instructions to allow the STG greater flexibility to manoeuvre around the orders in their charter. And that was exactly what they wanted to fix now. Unfortunately, however, it appeared that the mysterious ‘Underworld Cache’, that had drawn in the entire STG naval force, was better hidden than command had expected.

It was truly infuriating. They had swept the entire nebula, but they could find neither hide nor hare of a massive, secret Turian supply cache. The intercepted message was not forthcoming of more information, and it was virtually assured that the Hegemony would be arriving soon. Still, Morish knew what she had to do. Her superiors wouldn’t take failure as an option. The Volus, Von, she would know where it was exactly. Or that ship captain, on the Terminus ship. Morish cursed the the thought. She had been demoted often enough for factors beyond her control in the third Suppression, and it was only after a decade of diligent spy-mastering that she had been able to rise up to such a position of trust again.

And that was not going to be wasted on her now. She would fulfil her mission.

The scanner began to ring loud and true. Moving forwards to the viewscreen, she smiled. Here the Terminus rats came.

‘Ships incoming!’

‘Move the fleet into position. Trap the ship with the tractor-grabs… wait. Ships?’

‘Yes ma’am. Massive signature moving through the Relay.’

‘All ships, move to battle stations. Deploy all fighters; This is a code one alert across all ships, we have an enemy fleet incoming.’

Even as she spoke, she could see the fleet moving fast into position, acting with clockwork efficiency as they arranged themselves into a large crescent around the mass relay, their weapons powering up and locking in on the open dead space between their line and the enormous Prothean construct. Resting her knuckles on the viewscreen sill, Morish glared at the Relay. Was it possible? Could the Hegemony have already caught the Terminus rats.

Then, the object emerged. It was the Hegemony. Hundreds of ships burst into visible existence before the assembled might of the STG. They barely even hesitated after their arrival before firing. To her horror, Morish could see no less than four Dreadnoughts at the heart of the fleet, surrounded by two dozen battleships and fifty cruisers. The dreadnought’s shells hammered into ships all around the EOTC; the battleship FOTU broke apart before the massive power of the Mass Accelerator on the lead dreadnought. One shell a second tore through two frigates before colliding hard into the side of the Cruiser HOSK, sending all three vessels plummeting towards Bahak as their drives failed. The EOTC itself shuddered as a mass accelerator round clipped the edge of its kinetic barrier, draining a concerningly large part of the reserve, before bouncing off and hammering into a sloop, splitting it in half and sending the prow slamming hard into the nearby frigate, FOR.

‘All ships, close in. We can’t let those dreadnoughts keep hitting us. Their ships are older than ours- use your manoeuvrability, and keep to your own weight class. They have us outnumbered, we need to keep them on the defensive.’

Even as she barked the orders, Morish didn’t like the feel of the battle. It felt too scripted. The Batarian fleet was huge, with over two hundred smaller vessels appearing out of the mass relay and burning forwards to support the capital ships, which for their part seemed to be more than satisfied to hold back and blast at the STG fleet. Nodding to her helmsman, the EOTC started burning forwards. Morish could see a flood of smaller vessels screaming ahead of them, racing to reach the Hegemony fleet, to close the distance before too many ships were brought down. She winced as one of the approaching formations was ripped apart by a mass accelerator detonating the reactor of the frigate in the heart of the formation, the nuclear detonation taking four ships with it.

Then, the fleets met. The sloops of the STG fleet met their opposite halves hard. It was obvious that the STG held a substantial technological advantage over the Hegemony forces- every STG sloop seemed to cut a swathe through the Batarian screening fleet forces, every vessel seeming to reap four times their number before breaking apart.

Then the heavy Hegemony ships opened fire. Volleys of missiles and ship to ship broadsides tore into the onrushing STG squadrons. Fighters and small ships exploded into flames or were sent spiralling down towards Bahak, as the massive bore cannons of the Hegemony heavy fleet cut through the attacking forces. Too soon, Morish though, closing her eyes and shaking her head. They were too effective. The small ships had broken through the Batarian screening forces too quickly, and now they were too close to the capital ships; the cannons were not selective, ripping apart both Hegemony and STG sloops with equal ferocity. Finally, the STG frigates were able to close with the Hegemony fleet, and the cohesive formations of the Batarian fleet simply broke up. Morish was actually rather shocked.

She only saw the warning signs far too late. The thing about space is that, unlike wet naval battles, the whole thing takes place in three dimensions. So while it appeared that a sensible, cohesive formation broke apart, it was in fact merely a redistribution. And now the frigates found themselves running a merciless gauntlet, surrounded on all sides by Hegemony battleships and, at the far end of the gauntlet, barely ahead of the relay, were the dreadnoughts.

The frigates were torn to shreds. The STG had started this battle with forty frigates- not insubstantial, but far from a world-changing force. Now there were two. As the Batarian Mass Accelerators ripped a trail of destruction through the attacking ships, tearing into sloops and frigates with equal efficacy. There was no artistry, no precision. Just unrelenting application of devastating quantities of firepower. The admiral was smart, she would give him that. Gritting her teeth, she turned to the chief officer.

‘Deploy the E-worm. Silence those ships.’

‘But Dalatress, two of the dreadnoughts are still out of range.’

‘Activate it now.’

She knew what this would do. Somewhere, deep within the bowels of her flagship, a team was running towards a sealed room in their cyberwarfare team. There, they would take out a small but priceless command and control chip that would be the key to evening these odds. Then, they would run towards the communications suite, and load it up. The effects of this should be coming out any time… now.

Looking up, she watched with a smirk on her face as the vast majority of the Hegemony capital ship fleet stopped firing and fell into darkness.

You see, the fun thing about capital class ships is that the sheer size of the ships, as well as their varying masses, as a result of varying power cell payloads and personnel numbers, required far more precise management of their Eezo drives. And as such, ships over a certain mass absolutely required a VI. The drawback of this, was that it resulted in far greater vulnerability to cyber-attacks. And for a fleet as old as that of the Hegemony, pitched against one as advanced as the STG, the contest was outright unfair.

And so the Hegemony found itself drastically weakened by the sudden surprise attack, with the huge swarm of lighter, non-VI equipped vessels (Mostly sloops and frigates, but also more than one of the older cruisers) breaking off their rapid advance as they realised the bulk of their capital ship fleet had simply stopped moving. Chaos reigned over the Hegemony fleet, with thousands of garbled comm intercepts streaming into the bridge as the ships desperately sought new commands.

That was when the STG struck. The three leading battleships, the EOTC included, hit into the mass of lighter Hegemony ships. It was a total reversal of the earlier battle. The light Hegemony sloops seemed to be viciously clustered around the leviathans of the void. The long range scanners clearly showed the lighter arms of the surviving STG fleet swarming over the silenced Batarian heavy ships, pouring fire into the defanged beasts, breaching their hulls and allowing their lack of backup systems to do the rest.

Then the BOTC, the battleship bringing up Morish’s flank, exploded into a huge fireball. Over six sloops were torn apart in the explosion, but it was only a temporary clearing. Screaming for a halt, Morish shook as the EOTC stopped almost without decelerating. Not a moment too soon, too. Seconds later the battleship bringing up her other flank, TSOI, cracked in half as a mass accelerator slammed into its over-taxed kinetic barriers. Morish could hear the screams of the dying crew over the comms. Snarling, she roared out.

‘Full power to the engines, and clear away these ships. Get us clear, and begin evasive manoeuvres.’

The ship immediately burst back into life, breaking away from the swarming mass of Hegemony light ships. Suddenly, the kinetic barriers shuddered. A battleship was clearly visible over the scopes, moving at a high-speed intercept course to meet the STG vessel. Screaming orders, the EOTC fired another volley from its cannon, clearing out a swathe of the light Hegemony vessels. It wasn’t enough. The fire on the edges of the EOTC’s kinetic barriers intensified. Rubbing her crests, Morish sighed. Time for a change.

‘All STG ships, form up, and drive towards the Dreadnoughts. Focus your fire on the frigates, and choose targets of opportunity.’

The effect was immediate. The fire on the kinetic barriers of the EOTC slackened off considerably. Half a dozen Hegemony sloops exploded behind her ship, while the rest peeled off and moved to evacuate the remaining dead battleships, floating in the void. The only ship that continued the pursuit was the Batarian battleship, that continued dashing after the STG fleet. While the STG fleet easily outpaced the Hegemony ship, it was eminently capable of blasting the rearmost ships as they raced towards the dreadnoughts. There was only a small force of defending ships , and it seemed that the fleet would get there in time.

Then the Mass Accelerators hit home. The first round clipped the flank of the EOTC. It tore straight through the kinetic barriers, and ripped a huge gash in the flank of the battleship, and the catastrophic change in momentum sent the ship into a tailspin, before continuing on its path of destruction and ripping through a cruiser’s shields and cracking open their bridge. The second shot plowed headlong into the Cruiser FOT, and sent the spiralling fragments smashing straight into a dozen following sloops. The sloop’s own speed did the rest, the shards tearing through the kinetic barriers and shredding through their armour.

Picking herself up from the floor of the bridge, Morish gave the evacuation order. Two thirds of the crew were dead from depressurisiation. The automatic containment systems had failed. The only systems that were still functioning properly were the drive systems, and these she put to good use. The STG had lost this battle. But she was not going to fail the Union. Not again. As the rest of the fleet scattered before the Hegemony firepower, Morish counted down the remaining crew, until it was only her left. Then, striding to the pilots chair, she took aim.

An Eezo driven micro jump is, by galactic standards, extremely slow. Barely three percent of the speed of light, if the engines are heavily overclocked. But the truth is, a ship of battleship mass moving at such a velocity is a deadly weapon in its own right. Morish had seen this once before- and only once- during the dying days of the third Suppression, as the STG attempted to prop up the failing Terminus rebels against the Alliance. In a particularly desperate final battle, a rebel frigate had chosen to make the final sacrifice, dashing itself at its top velocity against an Alliance dreadnought. The jump had to be timed precisely, and the effect was devastating. And this was her choice now. Aligning the EOTC with one of the derelict battleships, she entered the instructions into the onboard VI. Smirking, she saw one of the escort ships desperately diving towards the planet- clearly one of the more observant of the Hegemony’s officers.

Then she jumped.

Nevaros was furious. They had arrived with the vast bulk of the Hegemony’s surviving navy, only to discover, instead of the distracted, tired little Alliance frigate, a fully equipped and prepared Salarian battlefleet. In battle formation, no less. It was then Balak had proven his right to his position, and they had made the Salarians bleed for every move they made.

Then, the reptilian bastards deployed some form of synthetic witchcraft. All of the heavy ships within half a million kilometres of the Salarian flagship had been rendered silent, including Admiral Balak’s dreadnought. It was at times like this that Nevaros praised his stars that he always chose to use a sloop. So many admirals loved to take the biggest and flashiest ships in the fleet. Everyone always ignored a simple sloop. But that hid their true value. No-one ever targets a sloop. No-one ever surrounds them, and hunts them down. And so, thanks to its low tech design, Nevaros had taken over co-ordinating the battle.

The mess that remained any way. But, his new plan had worked swimmingly. The Spear of Ixor’Maeth, deployed in its place of shame, had proven to be the fleets salvation, as its very remoteness kept it from the electronic attack. Its guns had silenced many of the Salarian ships, and it had provided priceless cover for his real weapons. Ordering the two operational dreadnoughts to target the Salarian battleships had proven a superb move, ending the bulk of the fleet’s firepower.

Clearly the Salarian admiral realised this too. The Salarian fleet had reformed. And drove fast towards the Dreadnoughts. At last, the Mass Accelerators had proven their value. Until that reptilian bitch had made her move. Nevaros had seen ramming at sub-light speeds. He had even once been privy to ramming at micro jump- he suspected in the same engagement his opponent had. He had seen the warning signs. Had ordered the Hegemon’s Fist to dive towards the planet, away from the inevitable collision.

Instead, the Salarian Admiral had done the equivalent of creating a space shotgun. Ramming the powerless battleship had sent fragments spinning across space as a fraction of light speed- effectively a low power mass accelerator. The dreadnoughts and attendants had been ripped apart. The Fist’s engines had been gutted by one low velocity shot, and while the helmsman was able to guide the descent to Bahak, it was still far rougher than he would have liked.

And now here he was, on a shuttle, heading up to the Spear of Ixor’Maeth. The rest of the Hegemony fleet was mustered around it. The final military muscle of the Hegemony. One battleship, three cruisers and half a dozen frigates. The sloops had suffered terribly during the final destruction of the Salarian fleet- their ships proved far more advanced, and he had been briefed that only the firepower of the Spear allowed this eventual victory. Barely three percent of the crews of the de-powered ships had been successfully evacuated. By sheer survival, Nevaros was now effective Admiral of the Fleet. Balak had been ripped apart with his Dreadnought, unable to manoeuvre out of the path of the Salarian Admiral’s last gambit. About six thousand Salarian prisoners had been taken, and from their interrogations, Captain Ishaman of the Spear had determined that this was an STG fleet- the bulk of their strength, come to it.

Nevaros hated the skinny reptiles. While the STG could easily endure the loss of their fleet, this was everything the Hegemony had left. Tricked into a vicious battle over the same thing. That was the only reason the STG could be here. And that was the million-credit question wasn’t it.

Where was the Cache?

Finally, they docked on the Spear. Moving quickly to the lift to the bridge, the few survivors of the Fist flanked him, slipping into the Spear’s security detail without seeming to move at all. When he arrived, the bridge was in uproar. Ishaman was roaring at his communications officer, who was desperately attempting to shy away from the furious captain. Nevaros stepped forwards, and roared.

‘Silence!’

Immediately the bridge fell into silence. Then, everyone saw who had spoken, and rapidly stood to attention. Nevaros frowned. They had moved extremely fast- something above and beyond mere respect for rank. Something to ask about later. For now, he had a question.

‘Have you found the cache?’

At this, Ishaman gestured to the terrified communications officer, who stumbled forwards and, obsequiously started muttering. Rolling his eyes, Nevaros leaned in, and pressed his finger to the officer’s shoulder.

‘What is it?’

The officer bounced from one foot to the other nervously.

‘Our scouts have finished scanning the entire system. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No ships. No weapons. Not even a single life form. The stealth ship has also managed to remain undetected. We have nothing. They must have got here before us.’

Nevaros sighed, resting his head in his hands.

‘No, they didn’t. They had no idea. This was a trick. Someone wanted to set us against the STG. The Hegemony is ruined. We have nothing left. The rebels will have taken everything by now.’

Smashing his hand into the desktop, he groaned. Then, Nevaros stilled. Turning to Ishaman, he looked straight at the captain.

‘Did you get the communication from Matriarch Alerie during the Terriax battle?’

Ishaman nodded, confused. Nevaros let out a sigh, and turned to the communications officer.

‘Do you still have the communications key?’

The officer’s eyes opened wide. Then, after a second’s worth of hesitation, he started to nod.

‘Good. Set up a multi-channel broadcast using that key. I need to address our new lords and masters.’

‘I am Admiral Nevaros, acting Admiral of the Fleet for the Most Noble Navy of the Batarian Hegemony. I am transmitting this message to Matriarch Alerie of the Skyllian Federation, and whomever you are commanding the Terminus Alliance Stealth Ship encountered over Khar’Shiera’Terriax. I, on the behalf of the surviving elements of the Batarian Hegemony First Fleet, surrender to you, Matriarch Alerie Iar’cha of the Skyllian Federation, on the condition of safe passage and a total amnesty for the crime of Slavery, as well as full citizenship within the Skyllian Federation. We will respect any response made by either yourself or Acting Commander in Chief Torus Gaarn. We Surrender.’

At that, the hologram cut out. Alerie looked at it, releasing a slow, drawn out breath, before turning to face the other two people in the room. Lianess sat on one of the chairs, laid out to the side, while the third individual was an Asari so famous even Alerie recognised her. Matriarch Benezia T’soni stood projected in soft focus, her regal black dress clearly accenting her figure through the hologram.

‘There was never any Cache?’

The captain spoke first, trying hard to restrain her breathing. She was clearly fighting to hold down emotions that she felt were better off suppressed before her superior.

‘Of course there was. Even Krona can’t fake something that substantial. We merely plundered it years ago, while it was still relevant. The Turian Hierarchy had no idea.’

‘So, what was this whole thing about?’

At her question, Benezia turned to face Alerie. Smiling at her from underneath her helmet;

‘It was a trap, obviously. While you and Lianess here kept the Hegemony occupied with their hunt for the legendary Underworld Cache, Krona operatives were in communication with your leader, now, from what I hear, President Gaarn. We agreed to a substantial loan, to support the Federation’s war efforts, and arranged a contract with Kyrrilian Shipbuilding for a substantial new fleet on the Federation’s behalf. Then, all that needed to happen was for the Hegemony fleet to depart the space lanes. Something we found remarkably easy to achieve, after your little stunt in the Khar system sent them into uproar. So, in total, the STG and Hegemony destroy one another, the Federation claims control over Hegemony space, the Alliance gains control over the Attikan Keystone. We win. The Hegemony loses everything. And the STG gets a big black eye from which they will hopefully never recover. A neat little solution to a very complex problem facing us, if I do say so myself.’

At that, Alerie snarled, while Lianess rose to her feet, her face twisted in a scowl

‘You made me rip apart an innocent woman’s mind! Rawle had his full way with her! That is anything but neat!’

A clear look of disgust crossed Benezia’s face when Lianess mentioned Rawle. Clearly even the high and mighty Director T’soni had heard of the monster. But Alerie had another matter.

‘So, instead of directing us to a legendary, super-secret weapons Cache, you just gave us… a loan?’

Benezia smiled at that.

‘Indeed. Extremely boring, but infinitely more practical than a do or die, high stakes secret mission. We do praise you for your quick thinking. Scanning STG channels and then leading the Hegemony scouts to the Serpent Relay and then micro jumping away was extremely clever.’

‘I am sure your little council is aware of exactly how many options we had. It’s almost as if you were perfectly willing to let us go by the wayside.’

At this, Benezia, amazingly didn’t react. Instead, her gaze hardened, and she focussed all of her, truly impressive, presence on Alerie.

‘Of course. You are soldiers. If you weren’t willing to sacrifice yourselves for the greater good, I would immediately see to it you were discharged. And in your particular case, Matriarch, I would ensure you would never live to see another day. Don’t mistake our support for your little rebellion as the actions of a bleeding heart. There are no whites in this. You should have figured that out during your little march through the Ixor system. Now, Lianess, show our guest what I mean when I say she is totally in our power.’

Without even hesitating, Lianess un-holstered her sidearm and flicked it up to level it against Alerie’s temple. Alerie clenched, summoning her biotic power and gathering it to her hands. She knew she wouldn’t be fast enough, though.

‘Enough, Captain.’

Quick as it came out, Lianess re-holstered her sidearm. Alerie stared at her for a second, before dispelling her charge. Turning to face Benezia again, she saw a cruel smirk playing across the younger Matriarch’s face.

‘As you can see; soldiers. No friendships. No connections. And don’t think our efforts to help your Federation emerge was a gift. It was a business transaction. And we will be expecting a return on our investment. Commander Gaarn has already granted the first of our requests; don’t think it will be the last. Now, go to the Admiral. Accept his surrender. Then run off to Commander Gaarn, and tell him about this conversation. And remind him what the consequences will be for disobedience.’

Optimus watched with intent as Alliance haulers descended over the Leviathan. Swarms of ‘Micro Drones’ flowed like a tide over the husk of the ancient ship, occasional flashes of life emerged as the tiny machines burned into the hull with yocto-beamers, carving into the super-hardened shell. The deconstruction process had been ongoing for two weeks now, ever since Matriarch Alerie had returned. She had not only returned with a high tech stealth ship- allegedly to serve as a mobile ambassadorial post- but also a substantial Hegemony fleet, that had allegedly surrendered wholesale after the Battle of Bahak.

And then she had gone into her meeting with Gaarn. After that, both Torus and Alerie seemed vastly more timid around Captain… no, Ambassador Lianess. Ambassador. Silly title. More like mouthpiece. Every word that came from her mouth was clearly someone else’s. A fact Lianess had been more than willing to admit; for someone who was now an official representative of a major state, she was certainly a lot more fun in the local bar than most of the sorry lot around Khar’Shan’Teth. In fact, she had been extremely forthcoming with her real job; keeping an eye on Commander Gaarn on the behalf of Matriarch Benezia and the now legendary Krona.

Krona was fast becoming something of an urban legend around the Federation. With the arrival of the surrendered Hegemony troops, word had quickly spread of this mysterious organisation that could play even two groups as legendary as the STG and the once invincible Hegemony Navy against one another. It had gained something of a cult following among the tides of freed slaves across the Federation. It was whispered in the back-alleys that Gaarn was some form of divine instrument, sent down by the Goddess to secure the freedom of the downtrodden and broken across the Hegemony. If Gaarn was some form of Messiah, Krona were the angels; the mighty hand of the Goddess, shaping and forging the destiny of the Federation.

And when one of the things the hand that feeds requests is the deconstruction and removal of the derelict star ship in the Sea of Dis, you bend over backwards to accommodate them. The vessel was huge, but the swarms of drones were making extremely good time with the project, and required very little oversight. So, instead, it gave Optimus time to think.

The Holocaust of Freedom, as the Citadel press had taken to calling it, had been outstandingly successful. When they arrived in the Khar system, the feeble defence forces had been utterly unable to muster anything more than token resistance. The vessels from the Kyrrilian Shipyards had been worth every credit. The orbital defences the Admiralty had thrown up to defend Khar’Shan proved utterly insufficient in the face of the overwhelming firepower of the rebel feet. When Gaarn’s forces surrounded the Hegemonic Palace, the high Hegemon had surrendered with little protests, and had been shipped off alongside the rest of the Hegemony slavers in the Terminus Alliance ship Shadow of Bleak Fortune.

It had been a hectic week- rebel troops had seized control of the core systems against very little opposition. The outer systems, however, proved far more difficult to subjugate. Several surrendered when Admiral Nevaros arrived to turn over their sovereignty, while those on the Attikan Keystone had to be pacified by the powerful Alliance forces gathered for that exact reason. And Optimus had finally received a message from the lovely Tetha, from the Alliance Academy. The Batarian girl had poured her heart out to her ‘Uncle Vakarian’.

She had told him about her friends, and her rivals. Of the lovely Quarian mechanic she had met- Reah’Zorah, or something. And of her favourite student tutor, none other than the famous Liara T’soni. Apparently, she was graduating soon, and had rather taken Tetha under her wing. While the first few weeks had proved rather difficult, thanks to Tetha’s father’s blatant refusal to educate her, believing that an education was a sign of weakness- why learn when you would have everything provided for you by those who were lesser than you.

It was an attitude that made her particularly vulnerable during her early weeks in the Academy. She couldn’t read, and had barely ever had to work hard in her life. It seemed utterly overwhelming, and she had acted out. Fortunately, it was an understanding tutor who found her, scorching a message into the wall of her tormentor’s dorm room. Instead of turning her in, the tutor had transferred her to Liara’s tutelage. And now, after weeks of hard, slow work, Tetha was thriving. It seemed she was in fact extremely smart, according to the tutor’s report she had attached to the message.

Optimus smiled, letting out a long sigh that he felt right down to his bones. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see his son. He wanted his responsibilities to be ended.

He wanted this all to be over.

Nevaros was sitting alone in the brig of the Dawn when they came. A pair of armed Quarians clad in Terminus Alliance uniforms, lead by a masked Asari in tight, form fitting Alliance armour. Sitting down in front of him, the Asari looked straight at him.

‘Hello, Telak Nevaros. I am here as a member of the Terminus Alliance. As you are aware, you are currently under indefinite detention for war crimes and breaches of Citadel Law. I represent an independent outfit known as Krona. And I am here on the behalf of our leadership with an offer directly from the Captain herself. If you accept, we can promise an indefinite career in the Terminus Alliance military upon completion of a very specific task for us. If you refuse, we can guarantee you will not remember any of this situation, and you will spend the rest of your life as a likely unemployed, and possibly destitute civilian in this glorious new federation.’

Nevaros looked hard at the inscrutable mask and hood, obscuring the Asari’s face. He couldn’t make anything out through the hard set, stylised features.

‘What do you want me to do?’

The Asari looked at the two Quarians on either side of her.

‘We need you to move a series of high value assets from Terminus space to the Quarian system of New Rannoch. You will be commanding a substantial fleet, flying pirate colours. This mission must take place in complete secrecy, and no-one else can know of the assets.’

Nevaros looked at the Asari.

‘I accept, on one condition. I refuse to serve someone about whom I know nothing.’

At this, the Asari laughed.

‘I am afraid that the mask will remain on and the hood up. My identity is my most valuable asset. But my name is Master Jack Lawson, of the CFS Balor. And I am here to welcome you to Cerberus.’


	6. The T'soni Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear not, my pretentious chapter names will return, for all chapters other than interlude chapters

_Benezia T’soni had a long, stellar career before her eventual downfall and resurrection. Born twelve hundred years before the first Terminus Suppression, as the last descendant of the legendary T’soni clan. While it was obvious early on that she was a highly talented businesswoman, most of the elder Matriarchs of the council refused to take one so junior as her seriously, holding largely to their own council. During her Maidency, she signed up with the Asari Navy, and served with distinction during the dying years of the Krogan Rebellions; born in an Asari world on the borders of Krogan space, Benezia had numerous early connections with Krogan mercenaries and soldiers. These connections proved extremely valuable to Benezia, as they allowed her star to rise at an unprecedented rate as she brought the Republics victory after victory in an age in which victory was rare and widely dispersed. It took the first Suppression to bring that all crashing down. During the Suppression, despite all of her, admittedly heroic, efforts to the contrary, no amount of tactical finesse and forward planning could have staved off the eventual defeat of the invasion. In the aftermath, the Council turned on Benezia, hard. Reeling from their vicious betrayal, Benezia made her move. Taking her family and the full sum of her and her families’ assets, Benezia fled to the Terminus Alliance, desperately seeking asylum; asylum that the Alliance was only too willing to give to an Asari of her resources and her experience. Benezia has since proven her value to the Alliance dozens of times over, most notably when she signed the final ceasefire to the second Suppression. _

Today was the day. At long last. Nine years of study, and now she would finally ascend. No longer would she be Liara T’soni, lesser daughter of the great Matriarch T’soni. Now she would be Doctor T’soni, one of the foremost experts on Prothean ruins in the galaxy. It was a position she had dreamed of acquiring for decades, ever since mother told her of the legendary Temple of Athame on Thessia. And now it was almost hers.

All she needed to do now was convince the board of councillors at the Terminus Academy on Omega that she was, in fact, barking up the right tree. Which was why she was now in this shit-hole of a station, waiting in front of the large double doors to the boardroom. Nervously thumbing through her notes, she checked and double checked every piece of evidence and conclusion, not to mention her supporting theories and the, at the last, her conclusion. A sudden voice snapped her out of her frenzied checking.

‘Adept Liara T’soni, the board will see you now.’

Looking up at the source of the voice, Liara gave a quick nod to the armed Quarian, before moving into the dark room. The board were sitting at a crescent shaped table in front of her. On the one side, she could make out the Academic Director of the Academy, Daro’xen, formerly Admiral of the Quarian Migrant fleet, before coming to Terminus space after her stellar success during the Reclamation. On the other, the Salarian Dalatra Corvius Neron, former master of the STG, only to be disgraced and blacklisted following the second Suppression. Liara felt a pang of pity for the Dalatra. His was a story she knew and understood all too well.

But in the centre, was someone Liara didn’t recognise. An Asari, covered from head to toe with an elegant long black gown, her hands obscured with delicate gloves, and her head and face covered by a stylized black mask and hood. The expression the mask seemed to flicker constantly in the dim light, but her gaze was fixed on Liara. Then, breaking eye contact, and turning to her compatriots on the Board, the masked figure rose;

‘Liara T’soni, you stand before the board for the presentation of your theory on the Prothean disappearance. You examiners today are; Daro’xen, Academic Director of the Terminus Academy, Doctor Neron, of the Terminus Alliance Security Service’s Long Term Research Council, and Miranda Lawson, Commander of the CFS Balor. This board reserves the right to grant or withhold or recognition and support of your studies pending hearing of your research and conclusions. Should your research hold merit this board is authorised to grant you the fully accredited title of Doctor of Archaeology, as recognised by the Citadel Council and the Terminus Alliance. Now, with the legal mumbo-jumbo out of the way, please begin.’

Liara was wide eyed. The Balor? Was it possible? Seeing the board looking at her expectantly, she shook off her surprise, and started her presentation.

‘Esteemed directors, my presentation is short, but its impact will hopefully be understood by ones so knowledgeable as yourselves. The basic conclusion I have drawn from my studies, across Tenoris, Omega and half a dozen other digs, is that everything we have ever believed about the Protheans is not only utterly wrong, but that our continuing belief in such theories in fact places us in immediate, potentially lethal peril. I have based this analysis on three major points.

The first is that, while we have always believed that the Citadel and the Relay network were constructed by the Protheans , to facilitate travel across their empire, in fact the enormously predate the acknowledged end date of the Prothean Empire. We know that all signs of Prothean life ended approximately fifty thousand four hundred years before the present day, and according to the databases unlocked by the Citadel, Prothean Society only took off ten thousand years prior to that. Based on fragments of Omega knocked off during the second Suppression, we have effectively dated both this space station, and by extension every other artefact of the same construction, to a point more than sixty million years ago. Such a colossal gap between the creation of the network, Citadel and Omega, and the beginning of Prothean civilisation, leads me to suspect that the relics were in fact constructed not to aid the spread of civilisation, but to accelerate its demise.’

Stopping to gauge the board’s reaction, Liara cursed herself for a fool. The masks worn by Commander Lawson and Director Daro’xen prevented her from gauging any sort of emotion from them. Fortunately, Neron was far more expressive. Unfortunately, she didn’t like the look of total denial on his face. Breathing out, Liara continued.

‘The second piece of evidence, to support this theory, is that the Prothean archives hint that they too found numerous ancient relics, not anywhere near so ancient as the relays or the Citadel, but more ancient than their nascent civilisations by far. Further, it is stated, buried beneath petabytes of data in the relic on Tenoris, that these relics contained a similar story from their creators. This would suggest to me that the Protheans were not, in fact, the progenitors of civilisation in the Galaxy, but merely the most recent to be exterminated. These events appear to occur in cycles, regularly re-occurring through history. I believe these great destroyers, whomever they may be, use the relay network and the Citadel to accelerate their harvests, although I have yet to figure out how the Citadel is of benefit to them.’

By now, Liara was actively concerned. Daro’xen was leaning back in her chair, her head rolled back, while Neron was looking thoroughly unconvinced. Determined, Liara focused exclusively on Miranda when she continued.

‘The final point of evidence, in support of this theory, is drawn from the histories of the Citadel. Every race has an almost total reliance on Prothean derived technology, drawn wholesale or in part from the caches of secrets hidden on or near every race’s homeworld. I believe that not only is this a critical act of short-sightedness, I believe it could potentially leave us critically weakened before the potential threats that exist. I believe that these threats are very real.’

At this statement, Neron, it appeared, couldn’t contain himself any more. He rose to his feet, and barked out a laugh.

‘You desire a Doctorate for… this? This bundle of guesswork and fact-finding? We should retroactively strip you of your scholarship. If that would even be enough. You are a disgrace.’

With that, Neron stormed out of the room. Daro looked at Liara, and, rising to her feet, laid her hand on Liara’s shoulder.

‘I’m sorry, kid. But it just isn’t going to happen.’

Liara could feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. As Daro brushed past her, Liara wiped her eyes and focussed on Miranda, who had remained totally motionless through the whole proceedings. Slowly, and with a delicate grace, Miranda rose to her feet, hands clasped beneath her… Goddess. Beneath her ENORMOUS bosom. Desperately re-directing her gaze, Liara whimpered.

‘Anything in particular you want me to fix, or did you just hate everything?’

At this, Miranda laughed. Then she reached up to her head, and pressed on something in her ear.

‘Did you get all of that?’

There was a brief crackling, and then Miranda let out her breath. Sweeping past Liara, the Asari opened the door and disappeared around the corner. At this, Liara broke. Tears streamed freely down her face. Nine years, and over a dozen digs, and this was what she got. Not even a word.

‘Are you coming?’

Liara’s head snapped up, the sound of Miranda’s strangely accented voice cutting clean through her grief. She looked at the masked Asari in disbelief.

‘What… what do you mean?’

‘Look, kid. I can’t give you your qualification by myself. But you are the closest anyone has been so far. And my boss is in full agreement with me. So, we have a proposition for you. But this room- hell, this shithole of a station- is nowhere near secure enough for that particular conversation. We can talk again on the ship. But only if you want to come. So, you coming?’

Wiping her tears, Liara shot up to her feet.

‘What do you need?’

‘Just come with me. The only specifics are the standard rules for travelling on Omega.’

And with that, Miranda swept off down the hallway, towards the Academy’s private docks. Liara paused for a moment, stunned, before catching herself and dashing after the Captain.

It was only after Omega was disappearing into the distance behind their frigate, emblazoned in the colours of the Terminus Alliance, that the masked Asari finally turned around to face Liara. Liara could feel her heart beating. This was most certainly not how she imagined this day going. She had always known her presentation was a long shot. It deviated far too far from accepted doctrine to allow her to feel any confidence in its acceptance. All she had hoped was that the board would have been interested enough to at least follow her logic when they read the full thesis. She was most definitely not accepting this.

‘Right. The first thing I need to tell you, miss T’soni, is that this is not a pure archaeology related offer. The truth is that, as I am sure you have surmised, I do not work on behalf of the Academic board. My superiors and I read your thesis, and we were more than impressed. We did, however, wish to confirm a couple of things; the strength of your belief in your own ideas, and, from that, your dedication to the science of history, rather than the occupation. We needed these checks, because what I am about to tell you is classified above top secret. A grand total of three people in Krona know of this offer, and barely a handful outside. So, I must now tell you, you breath a word of this to anyone, and you will be branded an enemy of Krona. And we are not merciful. So, I need you to swear, on the Goddess and your Mother’s life, that you will keep this a secret.’

Liara swallowed. This was definitely not how she expected the day to go. But then again, as her mother always said; If you never jump, you’ll never find out how high you can go. And she had nowhere else to go; not after the shambles of the presentation.

‘I swear, in the name of Matriarch T’soni and the Goddess of Thessia, that I shall never, in this life or the next, speak a word to anyone about anything I hear in this conversation.’

At this, Miranda nodded.

‘Very good. The first thing that I can tell you, is that you are right. The Protheans didn’t create the Mass Relays or the Citadel. And they were exterminated fifty thousand four hundred and forty-three cycles before the present day. And finally, they were not the first race to be exterminated in this manner.’

Liara’s eyes were open as wide as saucers. This was actually a physically painful experience. Miranda was physically a goddess, but Liara was also painfully aware of the magnitude of the words coming out of the other Asari’s mouth.

‘What… what caused this… this…’

‘Genocide? Slaughter? Harvest? We called them the Reapers; it was the name the Protheans gave them. They were mechanical beings, forged from the essences of entire civilisations, and they came every fifty thousand years to harvest the organic life of the Galaxy. This cycle they were delayed for unknown reasons, and when they arrived, they came in on the Orion arm of the Galaxy- forced to take a direct route rather than their favoured multi tendrilled assault.’

‘Wait… they… they came?’

‘Indeed. Suffice to say, they were defeated. More on that topic, however, is way above your clearance grade. The important fact is that your theory on the Prothean disappearance was quite correct. On the flip side, this left us in something of a precarious position. We are not like other factions in the galaxy. We see no value in wasting talent. But, we are not yet ready to reveal ourselves to the galaxy at large. Which left us a bit of a problem, in terms of what we do about you.’

Liara swallowed hard. This was sounding remarkably like the leadup to a very real shovel talk.

‘So… what did you decide?’

‘Well, that is why we are here. You can’t be bought, and while you could be threatened, we didn’t think it would last too long. Fortunately for you, an opportunity came up. We have a substantial fleet transporting a Reaper corpse to our headquarters for deconstruction. We had more than one plan for the development of galactic ties, and one of them is being activated. Hence the secrecy. You will be attached to the fleet until it arrives at our stop-off point, at which point we will be funding you on a major archaeological expedition to cover off more than two dozen never before unearthed Prothean ruins. During this expedition, you will be acting as a representative of the Asari race, and in fact the various galactic races as a whole. Your tutees will be accompanying you; they will complete their courses under your guidance, at which point they will be entered into one of our special programmes.’

Liara raised her eyebrows.

‘How… why them?’

Miranda laughed behind her mask.

‘We organised your studies extremely carefully. Do remember who runs the Alliance in future.’

Liara nodded, slowly.

‘So… presumably these people you work for. They are a new race, aren’t they? What… what can you tell me about them?’

At this, Miranda nodded in return. Then, she reached up and removed her mask and lowered the hood. Liara didn’t even try to stifle a gasp when her pink skin and long brown fur were revealed from behind the concealment.

‘My name is Miranda Lawson. Welcome to the employ of Cerberus, Doctor T’soni.’


	7. Cerbero Vidi Fame

_Prior to the beginning of the Terminus Suppressions, by far the greatest events to rock the Citadel were the Closing Migration and the Vanishing of the Geth. The Closing Migration was caused by the imposition of Turian Hierarchy laws upon the Quarian Migrant fleet. Out of options, and being pursued by the might of the Turian Military, the Quarians undertook a rash, but desperate, action, and activated the otherwise dormant Relay 314. Then, the Quarians disappeared through the relay, and simply fell out of the annuls of history for close to forty years. It was only with the Vanishing that they crashed back into the public knowledge of the Citadel. The Vanishing remains one of the most mysterious events in galactic history. Literally overnight, every single Geth over Rannoch vanished, seemingly merely disappearing into the nebulae. The Reclamation began almost immediately, and revealed the fresh forged and heavily settled Quarian Primacy in place of the desperate and tired Migrant Fleet._

Teela squealed with pleasure as Alerie’s hands roamed over her suited body. She needed this. The last few months had been hell. So now, lying in bed with her gorgeous lover, she was taking some much-needed R&R. She still had a couple of weeks of shore leave left- according to the Captain at least- and by this point Teela really wasn’t sure which of her daytime activities she hated most.

On the one hand, playing around with the engineers and helping to fly the freight haulers bringing new construction materials to the building site that was the new capital city of Ixor’Maeth’Secros’Neera felt far too much like work, and that name was going to drive her to insanity. Instead of dropping the Hegemony’s- admittedly logical- infuriating practice of multi-particle names, the Federation had not only retained it, but had expanded it. Whereas during the age of the Hegemony, lunar and outlying colonies were not included in the system, the Federation was ensuring that the same nomenclature was being applied to every single terrestrial body in the entirety of its’ space. And, while Teela had a great deal of respect for the process, she had to say, they were a horrific mouthful. And, while she loved flying, she also did that as her full-time job, and during her ‘downtime’, as the Turian elite were wont to say, she rather wanted to do… anything else, for a given value of anything.

And that value of anything was reached when she decided to try out the other option and attend the various shows and events as Alerie’s plus one. While she loved spending the time with the Asari, it felt wrong on two levels. The first was that it felt remarkably like a solid connection. Teela really wasn’t sure what made her upset about that. But it did. She didn’t want connections that solid. She would be deploying again relatively soon; the moment the new Alliance representative arrived, in point of fact. Then she would be off, back on endless patrols through Terminus space. While she did love that job, she was also very aware that now the Federation may be one of the forces she and the crew would have to fend off in future. Not something she liked to dwell on.

The second was that she just blatantly didn’t fit in. She had been raised on spaceships, constantly struggling for supplies of food and fuel. Then, she had been studying as if her life depended on it in the Terminus Academy. And after that it had been over a decade of constant warfare and semi-constant deployment, both large and small scale. She had never been good at just letting things be. She had to be doing things. And these occasions, with their pointless, endless prattling and inane conversations, were totally anathema to that. Even more so were the constant looks of the crowds, staring down their noses at her as if she was some form of ornate pet. Quarians had all but disappeared from Hegemony space since the Closing Migration, as the only remaining serious colonies were in the Terminus, and even the Hegemony was never stupid enough to pick a fight with the Alliance. And now she felt like an exotic trinket, very, very far out of place.

It was all worth it for moments like these. Or, at least, she didn’t think about that when she was here, in their lovely bed, in Alerie’s apartment in the purpose built governmental block. As the main civilian administrator to President Gaarn (or, at least, President Gaarn as soon as the Federation The Assembly figured out a way to force the title upon him; he was proving frustratingly stubborn at the moment), Alerie was almost constantly busy with her team of adepts and consultants, planning the shape of the Federation to come. At the moment, only three things were holding the Federation together; Shared love of Torus Gaarn, the Saviour as many knew him was one. Another was the strength of the Federation Military. Presently, they were commanded by Optimus Vakarian, and old and tired officer, whose grizzled and, in Teela’s opinion, deeply unfriendly exterior hid one of the kindest men she had ever known. They had talked endlessly over the young Batarian girl he had sort of informally adopted, saving her from the onrushing Federation forces.

Tetha, her name was. Up until a month ago she had sent him constant messages, about her life in the Academy, about her friend, another Quarian named Reah’Zorah. The name was very familiar. The Zorah’s were one of the oldest and most powerful Quarian families in the Primacy. If they were willing to send one of their own to the Terminus Academy, it was both a statement of quality and of intent. Apparently both Tetha and Reah were being tutored on some of the more basic aspects of galactic society by none other than Liara T’soni, who was, it appeared through Tetha’s letters, studying for a Doctorate in Archaeology in the Academy. Recently, however, the general theme had changed. Where once there was eager excitement and joy, there was now nervous anticipation. Liara, and by extension her students, had been granted a special academic transfer to an institution deep within Primacy territory. And it was there they were being transported now on a top-secret fleet. It was no secret the Primacy was fiercely protective of its borders. It was even less of a secret that the Council loved nothing less than to pry. And now this meant that a group of students was forced to travel via top secret military transport, out of fear that the Council would try to seed infiltrators.

The final reason the Federation remained standing was the support of the Terminus Alliance, and, mostly out of fear of the former’s intent, the Citadel. Terminus warships prowled the rough border regions on the Attican Traverse, saving the nascent Federation billions of credits on a permanent police force. Terminus trade plied the star ways, and, out of fear of being outdone, the Council had moved with uncharacteristic speed to establish trading links with Gaarn and his associates. Everything the Alliance did forced a response from the Council, and both the actions and reactions were always beneficial for the Federation. Alerie knew well the value of politics, and seemed to take a perverse glee in playing the sides against one another. However, it was obvious to everyone in the Federation that they would soon have to choose. Alerie argued for the Council. Optimus for the Alliance. The entirety of The Assembly was divided over the issue. Teela herself couldn’t see the problem. The Alliance had been steadfast allies to the Federation since the very beginning; the Council only sought ties to prevent the Alliance from seizing them.

So why did Alerie hate the Alliance so much?

Teela had attempted to bring it up on more than one occasion, only to be gently, but firmly, rebuffed. Or, on more than one occasion, distracted with another marathon of amazing, extremely kinky bonding. It was a source of amazement to Teela that Alerie hadn’t fallen pregnant yet. Not that such a result was her objective, but they had bonded more than eighty times in three weeks. If something wasn’t happening, there had to be a defect somewhere. Not that she was complaining; more pleasurable, guilt free bonding would always be a useful tool to have.

Then again, Teela thought, what did it matter? She was a pilot on a stealth ship, and Alerie was a major civilian administrator of one of the Alliances closest neighbours on the galactic scale. If it weren’t for the unique circumstances of their meeting, it would have been likely the pair of them would never have even seen each other.

Which brought her attention back to the matter at hand. Or, rather, the hand that was the matter. Alerie had evidently become bored during her contemplations on the nature of reality, and so had started groping her. Extremely hard. While Teela’s suit absorbed much of the impact, it was clear what Alerie wanted. Alerie’s quarters, by her personal request, included a large wall window. Once it became clear to Teela what the purpose of it was, she had carefully gone behind Alerie’s back to make it only one way. They could see out, but all the outside could see was a particularly reflective pane of empty glass.

Which was the best of all worlds, really, for what they enjoyed using it for. Teela had discovered early on that Alerie was an extremely experienced lover, and had, over time, developed somewhat… unique tastes. Not that Teela was complaining. Never that.

Then, a particularly hard grope snapped her back to the present. Growling, Teela grasped Alerie’s arm tightly.

‘Very well, if that is what you want, you tentacled blue little heat-varren! I’ll give you what you need.’

At the words and the grip, Alerie moaned pathetically. Teela reminded herself to quietly arrange a small donation from her account to the workers who soundproofed the room, before re-focusing on Alerie and grinning.

‘I’ll take that as a yes!’

The ship was amazing. That was the first thing Tetha thought upon seeing the KSS Witness to Solace. Her eyes were wide as she gazed on the sleek lapis and brass coloured hull, the multi headed serpent of Krona visible on its flank. They were going on that? When Liara had told them that they were going with her on a special expedition to the Primacy, Tetha would admit she was scared. Her papa had told her stories about the Primacy. About how they stole from the Citadel to feed their war industry. About their vicious hatred for the Geth, and their warmongering across the galaxy in an attempt to get their homeworld back.

About how they had somehow convinced a race of Artificial Intelligences to abandon their world. Papa always said that that was the only possibility. The Quarians must have made a deal with the Geth, sacrificed something to allow their return. And, for a gift that big, it must have been something of great value. It had taken Liara and Reah working together to dispel those notions to calm her down. Then her second worry hit.

They would be travelling through Federation space, and very close to Citadel Council territory. She didn’t know much about navigation, but she did possess a star map. She was a Batarian. She had seen the glares directed at her by the other students. She knew what the galaxy thought of Batarians. Suspiciously, Liara and Reah had been less quick to argue against this one, sharing sad, knowing looks between them.

But now all that was forgotten before the majesty of the Witness. A brand-new Krona Stealth frigate, it stood at three hundred meters long, and fifty deep, with a crew contingent of two hundred of the Terminus’s finest. She could see half a dozen other academy students, all in their fresh military uniforms. Liara had been concerned when they had seen the uniforms, but Tetha had been elated. Even Reah seemed excited; she had been given a Quarian design, clean and shining blue, trimmed with copper and brass outlines, with the wings and serpent of the Alliance emblazoned across the backs of their overcoats. The uniforms were so dashing and, most of all, clean. They had come with instructions. They were to be worn when entering the ship, and when disembarking in the Primacy on the far side.

Slowly, the three of them approached the entrance ramp. Liara lead the way, with the two teenagers following in her shadow, desperately attempting to hide behind her presence. Liara laughed a little at their complex attempts to both see everything they could about the ship, and hide as much of their forms as they possibly could behind her. She, for one, was not a fan of the uniform. It was tight, and constrained her chest, as well as the heraldry distressing her. She had kept to her deal, and hadn’t breathed a word of her conversation with Miranda to anyone. Not even her mother. And now here she was, about to disappear entirely out of known space for an unknown period of time. She had been told that Krona officials had informed her mother of the need to know aspects of the trip, and that in itself concerned her.

Benezia T’soni was the Director of the Civil Board of the Terminus Alliance, and as such was by far the most powerful civilian in all of Terminus space. That Krona, or Cerberus, could so easily go over her head, that the humans had such reach that they could manage all of this without exposing themselves, spoke of a concerning degree of infiltration. The fact that Krona seemed to be operating at the beck and call of this Cerberus implied that they had in fact had at least a hand in the creation of the Alliance. If only that.

It was when Liara looked up that she saw someone she truly never expected to see.

‘Admiral Nevaros! I… I was definitely not expecting to see you here.’

The Batarian turned around, and his four eyes focused in on her. A slight smile played over his lips as he took in the two small girls hiding behind him.

‘Hello... ma’am. Do I know you? And who are these lovely ladies with you?’

Liara looked at him, questioningly. Had he been briefed? Did he know what was going on here. She decided to test it out.

‘I am Arial Hades. These are my wards.’

It appeared her punt played off. His eyes widened momentarily, before he regained control of himself.

‘Ah. So you’re the special passengers then? Before you say anything else, please know that I was not written into… whatever secret you are in, Miss T’soni. So please don’t say anything that will get either of us hurt. And it’s Commodore Nevaros for now.’

His brusque introduction completed, he leaned over to talk to Tetha and Reah. The pair of them shied away from him for a moment, before they caught Liara’s eye. Remembering their instructions, they straightened up, and spoke.

‘I am Tetha. I am pleased to meet you, Commodore Nevaros.’

‘I am Reah’Zorah. The same, Commodore.’

Nevaros chuckled. The two girls seemed to relax, straightening their uniforms, before they noticed that he was definitely not in a similar uniform. His uniform was orange and red, and laced with black decoration. And most of all, it was scruffy beyond words, stained and wrinkled. Tetha recognised it quickly, while Reah needed some time to catch up.

‘You… You served in the Hegemony!’

At this, Nevaros laughed. Liara joined in at that comment, breaking up the tension.

‘Yes little bug. This is Admiral Nevaros. He commanded the Hegemony forces in the Battle of Bahak. I’m sure you have heard of him at least once.’

Liara was shocked. She truly hadn’t believed Tetha’s eyes could have gone wider. What surprised her more is that Nevaros turned around to face her too.

‘You… you know about that? I thought that was top secret?’

‘Please, it’s the worst kept secret in the Alliance. You’re a war hero here. Although, probably not for the right reasons. You have to understand, most of the Alliance hates the STG- they have been the architects of far too much harm. You wiped out thousands of them.’

At this, Nevaros nodded slowly, before turning to face the pair of them.

‘Mr… Mr Nevaros. Could you tell us about it? At some point.’

Nevaros’s eyebrows raised, and there was a second of tense silence. Then, he threw his head back and burst into laughter.

‘Of course, little one. I will be on board this ship for the entire voyage. I’m afraid I won’t be able to tell you a few bits, but we are going to have a very long time; I’m sure you can get some very interesting stories out of some of the other crew as well.’

Tetha and Reah were practically vibrating with excitement at this stage.

They were all but making holes in the deck as they stood on the bridge with Nevaros as the ship took off from Omega, and started to head towards the huge orbital ship-rests.

They were stunned into silence as they saw the fleet.

It hung there in orbit around Korpas IV’s moon. The lunar surface itself had once been a garden paradise, flush with vegetation, until the Talos Protectorate came after it’s one-time owners, the Ixxos Konor Corporation. Reah had always loved her military histories, and the landmark case in galactic law in which the Council ruled against the Protectorate formed the underpinning concept of her early education. She was studying to become a Representative; her eventual hope was to become a full ambassador to the Citadel. She devoured news of the Primacy’s current ambassador; a weak willed, brow beaten old Quarian by name of Kyris Vos. She was a poor representative, and on more than one occasion Tetha had to calm her friend down out of a frightful rage.

She had learned more than a little of Terminus History in the ensuing rant.

But the moon itself paled in comparison to the splendour of the fleet. There were easily ninety ships; some big, and some small. The one ship, floating in the centre, surrounded by swarms of worker ships, loomed over the whole proceedings. Even Tetha recognised its outline and shape.

‘Mr. Nevaros, why is there a Hegemony battleship here?’

The bridge stilled, but Nevaros simply leaned down and spoke calmly to her, holding eye contact. It felt so very familiar. The Alliance was great, but Tetha had been raised in the Hegemony. Often she had lived among its elite, while her father’s rages left him sane enough to function in polite events. She did miss the formalities.

‘That is the Spear of Ixor’Maeth. It, and its Captain, Ishaman, have been steadfast friends of mine for many years. I can honestly promise you, you will never find a better ship to shield us on our journey.’

Dalatra Mordin Surban looked around at the carnage. Ever since the battle over Bahak, the STG had been in absolute chaos. On the one hand, the Union was out for blood. The STG had lost almost one hundred and ten ships and over twenty thousand men; not something that anyone could either hide or cover up. And, even worse, the Terminus Alliance had witnessed the whole sordid affair, and so now the STG was receiving a constant stream of intercepts that now needed to be countered by forces from the Union and, on more than one occasion, the Hierarchy.

This, in itself wasn’t a problem. However, the problem was that the Alliance (clearly revelling in the agony of the STG) was constantly spamming the pathways with false signals and contradictory messages. While this wouldn’t be a problem if they were responded to by the STGs own fleet, when they were effectively borrowing other, better equipped fleets, it was an easy street for embarrassment and political strife. It made them look incompetent and, even worse, it made them look incompetent when everyone could see.

All of these pieces together meant the Senior Datarussors were suffering from a stream of headaches from the Union. Constant threats for budget cuts and further oversight. Constantly denying attempts to secure funding for a new fleet. And all in all just being obstructive and difficult. And, what Mordin felt hurt most of all; they entirely deserved it. The STG had screwed up. They had screwed up big, and they had screwed up hard. And they had screwed up in the one conflict that really, truly mattered in the whole of the recent history of the Citadel. They had caused the wholesale loss of the Batarian Hegemony from the Council; they had been responsible for the destruction of an ancient state, weakening it so its foundations could no longer stand. They had been responsible for driving the Federation that rose up in its place away from the Council and into the arms of the Alliance.

They needed to get their next move right. They needed to get it done cheap. And they needed to get it done properly, and very, very publicly. And Mordin believed he may hold the keys to this in his hand even as he thought these thoughts. For here, in his hand, was projected the form of a Quarian, by the name of Mesh’Zorah. And she had an offer for him.

‘So, Dalatra. It is good to speak with you. Now, before I continue, I must let you know, you will acquire no useful information from this recording. I have been instructed to create this on the behalf of Krona. Krona wishes to establish a rapport with the STG to work towards the elimination of a well-known threat in Citadel space. As the exact specifications of the mission are far too sensitive to commit to a recording, I am instructing an agent of mine to meet with one of yours in the Bleak Region, over the world of Tosev III. My operative will be arriving in two weeks to make contact. If you are not present, we will assume you have elected not to participate in this operation.’

The memory disk had been delivered to him in a sealed envelope by one of his fellow operatives. While he was unsure of the exact operative, he fully intended to find out over the course of the journey to Tosev III. And now, he had a ship to requisition.


	8. Timet Geritur

_There are numerous ship specifications in use across the Galaxy; the most useful scale is that in use by the Terminus Alliance, whose fleets by necessity are made up of a huge variety of different ship classes and designs, rather than the more uniform Citadel fleets. These are:_

  * _Dreadnought Class- 1km+_
    * _The Dreadnought Class is comprised of Weapon Dreadnoughts and Carriers._
    * _Weapon Dreadnoughts are the only vessels that carry Heavy Mass Accelerators; huge weapons that use element zero to accelerate slugs to a fair fraction of the speed of light. They tend to form the mainstay of any main fleet force_
    * _Carriers are dreadnought size ships that use smaller attack craft as their main offensive force, typically carrying a large fleet of bombers and defensive fighters. Pioneered by the Terminus Alliance, Carriers are often the largest ships in their respective fleets, and are usually more common than Weapon Dreadnoughts, as they are not bound by the Treaty of Farixen_
  * _Cruiser Class- 600m-1km_
    * _The Cruiser Class is comprised of Cruisers and Battleships_
    * _Cruisers tend to carry heavy ship to ship armaments, mounted lengthways along the ship. They tend to be the minimum size for a ship of the line_
    * _Battleships mount heavy weaponry in a broadside configuration. Due to the inherent size restrictions upon such weaponry, they use volume of fire to overwhelm enemy defences. Battleships are often the most heavily armoured and shielded of all ships in a fleet._
  * _Frigate Class- 300m-600m_
    * _The Frigate Class is comprised of Frigates and Destroyers. _
    * _Frigates tend to be the smallest class of ships used in major engagements by the main naval powers of the galaxy. They form the main numerical bulk of most navies, and rely upon their speed to evade any ship they cannot overcome_
    * _Destroyers tend to operate alone, or at the heart of scouting and patrol fleets. Typically more lightly armed and armoured than Frigates, they are still far more powerful than most civilian security ships, and have the speed and communications to evade and report any more dangerous threats_
  * _Sloops- <300m_
    * _Sloops are a catch all term for any smaller vessel in service with a naval force. They tend to be scout ships or specialised vessels. The major naval powers of the galaxy tend to utilize frigates as their smallest outriders, but less developed galactic powers still use large numbers of sloops to supplement their main fighting fleets._

_It is worth nothing that due to the huge discrepancies in the developments of the various galactic fleets, while this scale works as a general rule, it is by no means an absolute guide, and often the roles of the ships overlap between class tiers._

Lianess was not happy. At all. Not only was this an ungodly hour in the morning. Or she thought. Who the hell knew in space anyway. Dammit. Not only was this an ungodly hour in the morning. Not only was she being summoned- SUMMONED- before the ONE person she absolutely didn’t want to see right now. No, the problem was that Lianess was fairly certain she was going to have to tear Teela away from her lover. And when that lover was both a powerful politician and biotic, whom Lianess had previously threatened, she was totally certain there would be some unpleasant surprises in store for her the next time she was in the region.

What made it worse was that she had been having a really, really nice time. Her crawl of the local taverns had been superb fun, and the fights had been truly heading towards a crescendo. She had, as it turned out, managed to piss off most of the criminal outfits and more than half of the regular tavern goers on Ixor’Trebos’Haar. And the last night had been a true masterpiece. Eighty-seven injuries, including twenty-two serious ones, and eight deaths. She herself had emerged drained and out of ammunition, with a sprained wrist and very black eye from a frustratingly tough Batarian. As an unrelated note, that Batarian had ended up as one of the relatively few corpses of the night, with a gunshot hole punched through his lung, all of his ribs shattered, and two eyes gouged out.

Looking over at her chronometer, Lianess groaned. She really needed to get moving now. Even while avoiding the major injuries, the exertion had left her stiff and uncomfortable. And the bed had most certainly not helped proceedings. Rolling sideways, she fell out of the bed. Hard. The ground was just like that too. Hard. Everything was hard this morning. Well then. What did the bitch want?

‘Captain Lianess. So good to see you well this lovely morning. And next time your late-night activities cost the Alliance thirty-three thousand credits, you should be aware they will be coming out of your pay.’

Just who Lianess wanted to see. Couldn’t Benezia just wait until later?

‘I don’t take orders from you, Benezia, in case you’ve forgotten. I work for Krona. Who, if I recall correctly, is above your very pretty head. So back the hell off.’

Benezia’s brow raised in response to this.

‘While that may be true, Captain, do remember who organises the pay checks. The entire Alliance military works for Krona. And the Alliance Core works for the Directorate. The Directorate I run. And the Core provides the funding for your little expeditions and games. Remember your place Captain. You and your guns fight battles. My money and I win wars.’

Lianess was going to scream if Benezia kept talking in her current tone. Her head was burning, and her eye was still stupidly tender. She didn’t want to take this.

‘What do you want, screeching whore?’

At this, Benezia’s gaze lost her intensity, and she let out a small laugh. Then, seeing Lianess clutching her head, she followed it up by booming at her;

‘You and your crew have a mission. We need you to head to The Bleak Region, to Tosev III. There you will meet up with a representative of the STG. You will then work with the STG in decoding the signal intercepts from the planet below.’

Lianess waited until she was sure Benezia had finished speaking, before emerging from the protective covering of her hands.

‘What about the two spies we dropped off there on our way to Bahak?’

Benezia smiled, and continued in a lower voice.

‘The STG will pick them up, alive or dead. Either suits our purposes. The communications base on the planet monitors a huge array of communications, across the galaxy. We have recently entered into an arrangement with the STG to pursue a very valuable target. The Intercepts are the first piece of the puzzle. Find the intercepts, and follow them through to their source. You have absolute authority from Krona for this mission to proceed. Do be aware that this is a black operation, and from this moment you are disavowed from the Terminus Alliance Navy.’

Lianess nodded. She got it. Saluting, Benezia’s hologram faded as she walked away.

Benezia sighed. She never enjoyed talking to the good captain; one of the things she liked most about the Alliance was the lack of backchat. While the Republics military was fairly ordered and well stratified, it always had a core issue arising from the general organisation of the Republics as a whole. Asari always expected to have their opinions heard, and expected to know the full plan, regardless of the potential costs of such a method of organisation.

While she knew that Lianess was better than that, and, deep down, was willing to admit the captain was a solid professional, she was also far too insubordinate for Benezia’s tastes. Too much backchat. Further, Benezia didn’t have enough information to be able to work on the captain properly- the Republics and Krona had between them sealed her records beyond all capacity to recover. Which, naturally, did anything but calm Benezia’s fascination. Krona had hundreds of agents and ships available to pursue its aims, yet twice in less than a year it had chosen this one captain.

But that thought was going to have to wait. Right now, her pilot, Keerna, a young Vorcha Benezia had personally selected from the academy, was walking towards her. The Omega born woman had not been granted a pleasant life; born in the midst of the infamous Resettlement of dark Omega, she had been swept up into the dying Blood Pack in their futile last stand against the Alliance. While the majority of the mercenary company had been exterminated, Keerna had drawn Benezia’s attention when she single-handedly delayed the counterattack, flying her fighter hard against the attacking Alliance fleet.

The crew of the sloop Benezia had dispatched to capture her reported she put up a vicious fight even after it was abundantly obvious she was going to lose. Benezia most certainly believed them. It had taken Benezia physically overpowering her in the med-bay to calm her down to a degree sufficient for communication; an effort that was handicapped by the girl’s total lack of linguistic ability. It had taken Benezia reaching into her mind and showing her what she needed to allow communication.

In return for her trouble, Benezia had secured the services of the best pilot in the fleet for her personal ship; while officially a diplomatic, civilian vessel, it paid to have backup. Backup in the form of a brilliant combat pilot, firepower that would make a cruiser blush, and a crack force of a hundred Alliance marines. The _Gifted Journey Into Light_ was not a vessel to be taken lightly.

It was a vessel that, finally, after weeks of painfully slow travel across the galaxy, through the various Mass Relays, was finally approaching its destination. The vast arms of the Citadel were strangely inviting. Or maybe that was just the thought of finally approaching a safe harbour after such a journey. What did interest Benezia was the enormous fleet massed around the Citadel. Clearly the Council was refusing to take any chances with the more unsavoury elements of the Galactic Community.

Sighing, Benezia moved forwards to the communications portal.

‘This is Director Benezia T’soni, acting representative of the Terminus Alliance. We are approaching the Citadel Defence Perimeter, and request permission to approach.’

‘Director T’soni, this is Matriarch Lidanya, Admiral of the Citadel Defence Fleet. Your authorisation is recognised by the fleet, and you are permitted to approach the Citadel. Proceed along this course to docking bay six-eight-three, and do not deviate. Any un-reported alterations to this transit path will be taken as hostile action, and you will be treated accordingly. Confirm.’

‘Confirmed, Admiral. Send my regards to the Matriarchs.’

‘Be careful T’soni. Some may not have my sense of humour.’

Benezia smiled. Nodding to Keerna, the Journey started to pick up speed. Benezia observed the tactical map as the frigate moved through the Citadel Defence Perimeter. Benezia could recall the first time she came to the Citadel; a veritable age ago, an era born in fire and death. And that is what Benezia brought. Then, she was simply Admiral Benezia. Leading the remnants of an Asari fleet to the Citadel to join up with their new found Turian allies. Centuries before the Suppressions. An age when the name The Alliance belonged to a different contender for Galactic dominance.

The Dock was enormous. Clearly, the council had seen fit to send out a greeting party. Half a dozen C-sec officers and a Turian in curious armour. Benezia smiled. Clearly the Council had seen fit to grant her special attention; it wasn’t everyone that received a SPECTRE for an escort. As the Journey settled, Benezia straightened her dress. Looking around, she saw that her chief had already assembled her an escort. Gesturing, the group of them started towards the ramp to the rear of the ship.

As the scene before them became visible, Benezia was forced to suppress a snicker. The last time she had visited the Citadel, to sign the Ceasefire for the Second Suppression, the Council had been just as nervous as it clearly was now. The C-sec personnel were all standing fully armed and ready, with only the two Turians at their head looking calm. Striding calmly down the ramp, she smiled at her escort.

‘So, I suppose you are the welcoming brigade. A SPECTRE and… And I have no idea. Who are you?’

The SPECTRE laughed, while the other Turian looked extremely uncomfortable.

‘Garrus Vakarian. I will be leading your escort force today.’

‘Vakarian. Why do I recognise that name… Oh yes! Optimus Vakarian. Gaarn’s tactical advisor.’

At this, Garrus visibly cringed. Benezia felt truly sorry for him in that moment; time to spare him some suffering.

‘Ah… so, C-sec thought they could score some easy points with the hot new neighbour by promoting his son. Why do I feel like I am shooting rather close to the mark here?’

Garrus nodded slowly. The SPECTRE barked out a snort, before presenting his hand to the Director.

‘Nihlus Kryik. Pleasure to meet a person as infamous as you; I’m a big fan.’

For a moment, everyone in both retinues froze on the spot. Garrus looked ready to burst into action, his hand hovering over the grip of his gun. Then, after a moment, the tense silence was interrupted by Benezia letting out a loud chuckle- never a laugh, that would be far too uncouth for a T’soni. A beat later, Kryik joined in, barking out wholeheartedly. It took a second longer for the retinues to relax, but relax they did.

‘It is good to see everyone is getting on well over here. I, for one, am glad two such… individuals as yourselves are able to find levity in such a situation.’

Benezia glanced nonchalantly over her shoulder, to see the Primacy Ambassador Ossa’Rosh walking up towards the gathering, hands behind his back, flanked on both sides by his own unit of marines. The dock was now getting rather crowded, and the C-sec guards were clearly unnerved by the sudden arrival of the Quarians. It was effectively an open secret that the Primacy and Alliance were each other’s most important allies. And the threat of that union expanding to include the newly forged Skyllian Federation was a bleak cloud that hung heavy over everybody’s minds.

And that was a state Benezia found, frankly, hilarious. A sentiment clearly shared by Kryik.

‘Well met, ambassador. It is a rare thing, for an ambassador, and a Quarian at that, to have a sense of humor.’

Benezia could feel her sense of dread at this meeting fade away. This could be quite an amusing trip. And it was good to see she would not be alone in enjoying watching the council squirm. For a SPECTRE Kryik seemed remarkably irreverent. All in all, this visit could be rather more fun than she was expecting.

The Night of Veracity drove hard through the darkness, fleeing towards the Galactic Rim. The crew as exhausted, and every blip on the sensors drove them towards the deep pit of terror they had been living in since their escape from Hagalaz. They were in deep space, far from communications range or the nearest Alliance Fleet. They all knew there was little help incoming. Since Benezia’s transmission, none of the Broker’s agents would be coming to his aid; his callous treatment of Mr. Von would see to that. Oh, they may still serve him and his goals, but they would never be willing to put their necks on the block for him.

In the command centre, the Broker himself was moving through his data packets, sifting all of the vast information stocks to find any possible truths about that vast ship. The records of the Balor were broken and fragmented, and no visual recording of its presence existed. Cerberus was also a mystery. The Broker had discovered the existence of this mysterious organisation long ago, but the idea that it was the operating arm of a hidden superpower was too ludicrous for him to consider. Or, at least, it had been. So now he sat here, digging into records that had gone un-accessed for decades, to try to get a better picture of what was happening.

Suddenly, everything powered down. The floating packets of light disappeared. Letting out a growl, the Shadow Broker heaved himself up from his throne and moved up to the bridge. The crew all looked at him, terrified of his presence, but sensible enough not to abandon their non-functional terminals.

‘What is happening?’

It was more of a growl than a conversation starter. One of the bridge grew, a browbeat looking Salarian named Osperar, came before the broker.

‘We… we aren’t sure, sir. Something broke into our systems and disabled our power systems. We’re dead in space.’

Suddenly, the holographic display flickered, a strange, eye like orb of light forming above the projector.

‘Shadow Broker, your ship, crew and life are forfeit. We are stripping your database and re-possessing your assets. Your contributions are appreciated, and will be noted. Prepare for annihilation. Resistance is futile.’

Growling, the Broker moved forwards to the monitor.

‘Who are you? What do you want?’

There was a moment pause, before the display flickered again. 

‘We are Harbinger. Cerberus send their regards.’


End file.
